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HANNAH"  THURSION: 


STORY   OF  AMERICAN   LIFE. 


BY   BAYAED    TAYLOE. 


NEW  YOKE : 
G.    P.    PUTNAM,    441    BEOADWAY. 

1864. 


Univ.  Library,  UC  Santa  Cruz  1994 


Encered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S63, 
BY    G.>  P.    PUTNAM, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York 


O.    A.    ALVORD,   8TEREOTYPE11  AND   PKUJTEK. 


PS 


TO    GEOUGE   P.    PUTNAM. 


MY  DEAR  FRIEND: 

WHEN  I  decided  to  write  a  brief  letter  of  Dedication 
for  this  book,  and  thus  evade  a  Preface — since  all  that 
need  be  said  to  the  reader  can  be  said  just  as  well,  if  not 
better,  to  the  friend — I  began  to  cast  about  in  my  mind 
for  the  particular  individual  willing  to  stand  by  my  side  in 
this  new  literary  venture,  deserving  of  all  the  fleeting  com- 
pliment which  possible  success  may  give,  and  too  secure, 
in  the  shelter  of  his  own  integrity,  to  be  damaged  by 
whatever  condemnation  may  fall  upon  the  author.  While 
various  cherished  names  arose,  one  after  the  other,  the  cab 
in  which  I  rode  and  meditated  passed  down  Regent  Street 
into  Waterloo  Place,  and  my  eyes  fell  upon  that  door, 
where,  seventeen  years  ago,  I  entered  for  the  first  time 
one  dreary  March  afternoon — entered  as  a  timid,  despond- 
ing stranger,  and  issued  thence  with  the  cheer  and  encour- 
agement which  I  owed  to  your  unexpected  kindness.  The 


4  DEDICATION. 

conditions  which  I  sought  are  all  fulfilled  in  you.  From 
that  day  to  this,  in  all  our  intercourse,  I  have  found  in  you 
the  faithful  friend,  the  man  of  unblemished  honor  and  un- 
selfish ambition,  to  whom  the  author's  interests  were  never 
secondary  to  his  own.  According  to  the  poet  Campbell, 
we  should  be  "  natural  enemies,"  but  I  dedicate  this  book 
to  you  as  my  natural  friend. 

I  am  aware  how  much  is  required  for  the  construction 
of  a  good  work  of  fiction— how  much  I  venture  in  entering 
upon  a  field  so  different  from  those  over  which  I  have 
hitherto  been  ranging.  It  is,  however,  the  result  of  ne 
sudden  whim,  no  ambition  casually  provoked.  The  plan 
of  the  following  story  has  long  been  familiar  to  my  mind. 
I  perceived  peculiarities  of  development  in  American  life 
which  have  escaped  the  notice  of  novelists,  yet  which  are 
strikingly  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  fiction,  both  in  the 
originality  and  occasional  grotesqueness  of  their  external 
manifestation,  and  the  deeper  questions  which  lie  beneath 
the  surface.  I  do  not,  therefore,  rest  the  interest  of  the 
book  on  its  slender  plot,  but  on  the  fidelity  with  which  it 
represents  certain  types  of  character  and  phases  of  society. 
That  in  it  which  most  resembles  caricature  is  oftenest  the 
transcript  of  actual  fact,  and  there  are  none  of  the  opinions 
uttered  by  the  various  characters  which  may  not  now  and 
then  be  heard  in  almost  any  country  community  of  the 


DEDICATION.  0 

Northern  and  Western  States.  Whether  those  opinions 
are  to  be  commended  or  condemned,  the  personages  of  the 
story  are  alone  responsible  for  them.  I  beg  leave,  once 
more,  to  protest  against  the  popular  superstition  that  an 
author  must  necessarily  represent  himself  in  one  form  or 
another.  I  am  neither  Mr.  Wcrodbury,  Mr.  Waldo,  nor 
Seth  Wattles. 

This  is  all  I  have  to  say.  The  intelligent  reader  will 
require  no  further  explanation,  and  you  no  further  assu- 
rance of  how  steadily  and  faithfully  I  am  your  friend, 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 

WOOD'S  HOTEL,  LONDON, 
August,  1863. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I.  PAGE 

IN  WHICH  WE   ATTEND   THE   GREAT   SEWING-UNION  AT  PTOLEMY 9 

CHAPTER    II. 

MR.  WOODBURY'S  INTRODUCTION  TO  LAKESIDE 26 

CHAPTER  itl. 

AN  EVENING  OF  GOSSIP,  IN  WHICH  WE  LEARN  SOMETHING  ABOUT  THE  PER- 
SONS ALREADY   MENTIONED 37 

CHAPTER    IY. 

AN  INTERVIEW  ON  THE  ROAD,  AND  A  NEW  HOUSEHOLD 48 

CHAPTER   V. 

IN  WHICH   MR.  WOODBURY   HEARS   A   WOMAN   SPEAK 61 

CHAPTER  VI. 
IN  WHICH  LAKESIDE  BECOMES  LIVELY 7*7 

CHAPTER    VH. 
WHAT  HAPPENED  DURING  THE  EVENING 90 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  WHICH  MR.    "WOODBURY   PAYS    AN   UNEXPECTED  VlSIT 105 

CHAPTER    IX. 

SPIRITUAL  AND  OTHER  RAPPINGS 113 

CHAPTER.  X. 

IN   WHICH   WE   HEAR   A   DIVERTING   STORY 129 

CHAPTER   XL 
CONTAINING  Two  DECLARATIONS,  AND  THE  ANSWERS  THERETO 143 

CHAPTER    XII. 
MOTHER  AND  DAUGHTER 155 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
IN  WHICH  SPRING  OPENS 167 

CHAPTER    XIV. 
CONTAINING  CONVERSATIONS  MORE  IMPORTANT  THAN  THEY  SEEM  TO  BE    177 

CHAPTER    XV. 
WHICH  COMES  NEAR  BEING  TRAGIC 189 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
CONCERNING  AN  UNEXPECTED  JOURNEY  TO  TIBERIUS 205 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
WHICH  SOLVES  THE  PRECEDING  ONE _  .213 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XVIH.  PAGE 

ONE  OF  THE  SUMMER  DIVERSIONS  OP  PTOLEMY. 232 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

IN  WHICH  THERE   IS  BOTH    ATTRACTION  AND   REPULSION 246 

CHAPTER    XX. 

IN  WHICH  SETH  WATTLES  is  AGAIN  DISAPPOINTED 258 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

WITH  AN  ENTIRE   CHANGE  OP  SCENE 269 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN  WHICH  TROUBLE  COMES  TO  LAKESIDE 281 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

WHICH  CONTAINS  BOTH  LOVE  AND  DEATH 293 

CHAPTER    XXIY. 
VARIOUS  CHANGES,  BUT  LITTLE  PROGRESS  IN  THE  STORY 308 

CHAPTER    XXY. 
IN  WHICH  HANNAH  THURSTON  MAKES  A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE 319 

CHAPTER    XXYI. 
IN  WHICH  A  WEDDING  TAKES  PLACE 333 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
DESCRIBING  CERTAIN  TROUBLES  OP  MR.  WOODBURY 344 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 
IN  WHICH  HANNAH  THURSTON  ALSO  HAS  HER  TROUBLES 356 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

IN  WHICH  A  CRISIS  APPROACHES 368 

CHAPTER    XXX. 
MR.  WOODBURY'S  CONFESSION 38" 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 
IN  WHICH  THE  STRONG-MINDED  WOMAN  BECOMES  WEAK 392 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 
IN  WHICH  ALL  RETREAT  is  CUT  OFF 407 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 
CONCERNING  MARRIAGE,  DEATH,  GOSSIP,  AND  GOING  HOME 419 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 
CONCERNING  THE  XEW  HOUSEHOLD  OP  LAKESIDE 430 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

IN     WHICH     WE     ATTEND     ANOTHER     MEETING     IN      FAVOR      OF     "WOMEN'S 

RIGHTS" 442 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 
IN  WHICH  THE  MAN  AND  WOMAN  COME  TO  AN  UNDERSTANDING 455 


HANNAH    THURSTON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

I1ST  WHICH  WE   ATTEND  THE  GKEAT  SEWING-UNION  AT  PTOLEMY. 

NEVER  before  had  the  little  society  of  Ptolemy  known  so 
animated  a  season.  For  an  inland  town,  the  place  could  not  at 
any  time  be  called  dull,  and,  indeed,  impressed  the  stranger 
with  a  character  of  exuberant  life,  on  being  compared  with 
other  towns  in  the  neighborhood.  Mulligansville  on  the  east, 
Anacreon  on  the  north,  and  Atauga  City  on  the  west,  all  fierce 
rivals  of  nearly  equal  size,  groaned  over  the  ungodly  cheerful- 
ness of  its  population,  and  held  up  their  hands  whenever  its 
name  was  mentioned.  But,  at  the  particular  time  whereof  we 
write — November,  1852 — the  ordinarily  mild  flow  of  life  in 
Ptolemy  was  unusually  quickened  by  the  formation  of  the  great 
Sewing- Union.  This  was  a  new  social  phenomenon,  which 
many  persons  looked  upon  as  a  long  stride  in  the  direction  of 
the  Millennium.  If,  however,  you  should  desire  an  opposite 
view,  you  have  but  to  mention  the  subject  to  any  Mulligans- 
villain,  any  Anacreontic,  or  any  Atauga  citizen.  The  simple 
fact. is,  that  the  various  sewing-circles  of  Ptolemy — three  in 
number,  and  working  for  very  different  ends — had  agreed  to 
hold  their  meetings  at  the  same  time  and  place,  and  labor  in 
company.  It  was  a  social  arrangement  which  substituted  one 


1 0  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

large  gathering,  all  the  more  lively  and  interesting  from  its 
mixed  constitution,  in  place  of  three  small  and  somewhat 
monotonous  circles.  The  plan  was  a  very  sensible  one,  and  it 
must  be  said,  to  the  credit  of  Ptolemy,  that  there  are  very  few 
communities  of  equal  size  in  the  country  where  it  could  have 
been  carried  into  effect. 

First,  the  number  of  members  being  taken  as  the  test  of  rela- 
tive importance,  there  was  the  Ladies'  Sewing-Circle,  for  raising 
a  fund  to  assist  in  supporting  a  Mission  at  Jutnapore.  It  was 
drawn  mainly  from  the  congregation  of  the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles. 
Four  spinsters  connected  with  this  circle  had  a  direct  interest 
in  four  children  of  the  converted  Telugu  parents.  There  was 
a  little  brown  Eliza  Clancy,  an  Ann  Parrot t,  and  a  Sophia 
Stevenson,  in  that  distant,  Indian  sheepfold  ;  while  the  remain- 
ing spinster,  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  boasted  of  a  (spiritual) 
son,  to  whom  she  had  given  the  name  of  her  deceased  brother, 
Elisha.  These  ladies  were  pleasantly  occupied  in  making 
three  mousseline-de-laine  frocks,  an  embroidered  jacket,  and 
four  half-dozens  of  pocket  handkerchiefs  for  their  little  Telugu 
children,  and  their  withered  bosoms  were  penetrated  with  a 
secret  thrill  of  the  lost  maternal  instinct,  which  they  only 
dared  to  indulge  in  connection  with  such  pious  and  charitable 
labors. 

The  second  Circle  was  composed  of  ladies  belonging  to  the 
Cimmerian  church,  who  proposed  getting  up  a  village  fair, 
the  profits  of  which  should  go  towards  the  repair  of  the  Par- 
sonage, now  sadly  dilapidated.  Mrs.  Waldo,  the  clergyman's 
wife,  was  at  the  head  of  this  enterprise.  Her  ambition  was 
limited  to  a  new  roof  and  some  repairs  in  the  plastering,  and 
there  was  a  good  prospect  that  the  Circle  would  succeed  in 
raising  the  necessary  sum.  This,  however,  was  chiefly  owing 
to  Mrs.  Waldo's  personal  popularity.  Ptolemy  was  too  small 
a  place,  and  the  Cimmerians  too  insignificant  a  sect,  for  the 
Church,  out  of  its  own  resources,  to  accomplish  much  for  its 
Bhepherd. 

Lastly,  there  was  the  Sewing-Circle  for  the  Anti-Slavery 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  11 

fair,  which  was  limited  to  five  or  six  families.  For  the  pre- 
vious ten  years,  this  little  community,  strong  in  the  faith,  had 
prepared  and  forwarded  their  annual  contribution,  not  dis- 
couraged by  the  fact  that  the  circulation  of  their  beloved 
special  organ  did  not  increase  at  the  Ptolemy  Post-Office,  nor 
that  their  petitions  to  Congress  were  always  referred,  and 
never  acted  upon.  They  had  outlived  the  early  persecution,  and 
could  no  longer  consider  themsehses  martyrs.  The  epithets 
"Infidel!"  "Fanatic!"  and  "Amalgamationist!"  had  been  hurled 
at  them  until  their  enemies  had  ceased,  out  of  sheer  weariness, 
and  they  were  a  little  surprised  at  finding  that  their  impor- 
tance diminished  in  proportion  as  their  neighbors  became 
tolerant.  The  most  earnest  and  enthusiastic  of  the  little  band 
were  Gulielma  Thurston,  a  Quaker  widow,  and  her  daughter 
Hannah ;  Mrs.  Merryfield,  the  wife  of  a  neighboring  former, 
and  Seth  Wattles,  a  tailor  in  the  village.  Notwithstanding 
the  smallness  of  this  circle,  its  members,  with  one  exception, 
were  bright,  clear-minded,  cheerful  women,  and  as  the  suspi- 
cions of  their  infidelity  had  gradually  been  allayed  (mainly  by 
their  aptness  in  Biblical  quotation),  no  serious  objection  was 
made  to  their  admittance  into  the  Union. 

The  proposition  to  unite  the  Circles  came  originally,  we 
believe,  from  Mrs.  Waldo,  whose  sectarian  bias  always  gave 
way  before  the  social  instincts  of  her  nature.  The  difficulty 
of  carrying  it  into  execution  was  much  lessened  by  the  fact 
that  all  the  families  were  already  acquainted,  and  that,  fortu- 
nately, there  was  no  important  enmity  existing  between  any 
two  of  them.  Besides,  there  is  a  natural  instinct  in  women 
which  leads  them  to  sew  in  flocks  and  enliven  their  labor  by 
the  discussion  of  patterns,  stuffs,  and  prices.  The  Union,  with 
from  twenty-five  to  forty  members  in  attendance,  was  found 
to  be  greatly  more  animated  and  attractive  than  either  of  the 
Circles,  separately,  had  been.  Whether  more  work  was 
accomplished,  is  a  doubtful  question  ;  ^  but,  if  not,  it  made 
little  difference  in  the  end.  The  naked  Telugus  would  not 
suffer  from  a  scantier  supply  of  -clothing ;  the  Cimmerians 


12  HANNAH    THURSTON  : 

would  charge  outrageous  prices  for  useless  articles,  in  any 
case  :  nor  would  The  Slavery  Annihilator  perish  for  want  of 
support,  if  fewer  pen-wipers,  and  book-marks,  inscribed  with 
appropriate  texts,  came  from  Ptolemy. 

The  Sewing-Union  was  therefore  pronounced  a  great  social 
success,  and  found  especial  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  gentlemen, 
who  were  allowed  to  attend  "  after  tea,"  with  the  understand- 
ing that  they  would  contribute  something  to  either  of  the 
three  groups,  according  to  their  inclinations.  Mrs.  Waldo,  by 
general  acquiescence,  exercised  a  matronly  supervision  over 
the  company,  putting  down  any  rising  controversy  with  a 
gentle  pat  of  her  full,  soft  hand,  and  preventing,  with  cheerful 
tyranny,  the  continual  tendency  of  the  gentlemen  to  interrupt 
the  work  of  the  unmarried  ladies.  She  was  the  oleaginous 
solvent,  in  which  the  hard  yelk  of  the  Mission  Fund,  the  vine- 
gar of  the  Cimmerians,  and  the  mustard  of  the  Abolitioniets 
lost  their  repellant  qualities  and  blended  into  a  smooth  social 
compound.  She  had  a  very  sweet,  mellow,  rounded  voice, 
and  a  laugh  as  comforting  to  hear  as  the  crackling  of  a  wood- 
fire  on  the  open  hearth.  Her  greatest  charm,  however,  was 
her  complete  unconsciousness  of  her  true  value.  The  people 
of  Ptolemy,  equally  unconscious  of  this  subduing  and  harmo- 
nizing quality  which  she  possessed,  and  seeing  their  lionesses 
and  lambs  sewing  peaceably  together,  congi  atulated  them- 
selves on  their  own  millennial  promise.  Of  course  everybody 
was  satisfied — even  the  clergymen  in  Mulligansville  and 
Anacreon,  who  attacked  the  Union  from  their  pulpits,  secretly 
thankful  for  such  a  near  example  of  falling  from  the  stiff, 
narrow,  and  carefully-enclosed  ways  of  grace. 

It  was  the  third  meeting  of  the  Union,  and  nearly  all  the 
members  were  present.  Their  session  was  held  at  the  house 
of  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue,  Agent  of  the  "  Saratoga  Mutual"  for 
the  town  of  Ptolemy,  and  one  of  the  Directors  of  the  Bank  at 
Tiberius,  the  county-seat.  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue  was  interested 
in  the  contribution  for  the  mission  at  Jutnapore,  and  the  Rev. 
Lemuel  Styles,  pastor  of  the  principal  church  in  the  village, 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  13 

had  been  specially  invited  to  come  "  before  tea,''  for  the  pur- 
pose of  asking  a  blessing  on  the  bountiful  table  of  the  hostess. 
The  parlor,  large  as  it  was  (for  Ptolemy),  had  been  somewhat 
overcrowded  during  the  afternoon ;  therefore,  anticipating  a 
large  arrival  of  gentlemen  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Bue  had  the 
tables  transferred  from  the  sitting-room  to  the  kitchen,  locked 
the  hall  door,  and  thus  produced  a  suite  of  three  apartments, 
counting  the  hall  itself  as  one.  The  guests  were  admitted  at 
the  side-entrance,  commonly  used  by  the  family.  Two  or 
three  additional  lamps  had  been  borrowed,  and  the  general 
aspect  of  things  was  so  bright  and  cheerful  that  Mr.  Styles 
whispered  to  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue :  "  Really,  I  am  afraid  this 
looks  a  little  like  levity." 

"  But  it's  trying  to  the  eyes  to  sew  with  a  dim  light,"  said 
she  ;  "  and  we  want  to  do  a  good  deal  for  The  Fund  this  even- 
ing." 

"  Ah !  that,  indeed !"  he  ejaculated,  smiling  blandly  as  he 
contemplated  Miss  Eliza  Clancy  and  Miss  Ann  Parrott,  who 
were  comparing  the  dresses  for  their  little  brown  name- 
sakes. 

"  I  think  it  looks  better  to  be  gored,"  said  the  former. 

"  Well — I  don't  know  but  what  it  does,  with  that  figure," 
remarked  Miss  Parrott,  "  but  my  Ann's  a  slim,  growing  girl, 
and  when  you've  tucks — and  I'm  making  two  of  'em — it 
seems  better  to  pleat" 

"  How  will  this  do,  Miss  Eliza  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Waldo,  coining 
up  at  the  moment  with  a  heavy  knitted  snood  of  crimson 
wool,  which  she  carefully  adjusted  over  her  own  abundant 
black  hair.  The  effect  was  good,  it  cannot  be  denied.  The 
contrast  of  colors  was  so  pleasing  that  the  pattern  of  the 
snood  became  quite  a  subordinate  affair. 

"  Upon  my  word,  very  pretty  !"  said  the  lady  appealed  to. 

"  Pity  you  haven't  knit  it  for  yourself,  it  suits  you  so  well," 
Miss  Parrott  observed. 

"  I'd  rather  take  it  to  stop  the  leak  in  rny  best  bed-room," 
Mrs.  Waldo  gayly  rejoined,  stealing  a  furtive  glance  at  her 


14  HANNAH   THUKSTOJSI  I 

head  in  the  mirror  over  the  mantel-piece.     "  Oh,  Miss  Thurs- 
ton,  will  you  let  us  see  your  album-cover  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  had  caught  sight  of  a  quiet  nook  in  the 
hall,  behind  the  staircase,  and  was  on  her  way  to  secure  pos- 
session of  it.  She  had  found  the  warmth  of  the  sitting-room 
intolerable,  and  the  noise  of  many  tongues  began  to  be  dis- 
tracting to  her  sensitive  Quaker  ear.  She  paused  at  once,  and 
in  answer  to  Mrs.  Waldo's  request  unfolded  an  oblong  piece 
of  warm  brown  cloth,  upon  which  a  group  of  fern-leaves, 
embroidered  with  green  silk,  was  growing  into  shape.  The . 
thready  stems  and  frail,  diminishing  fronds  were  worked 
with  an  exquisite  truth  to  nature. 

"  It  is  not  much  more  than  the  outline,  as  yet,"  she  re- 
marked, as  she  displayed  the  embroidery  before  the  eager 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Waldo  and  the  two  spinsters. 

The  former,  who  possessed  a  natural  though  uncultivated 
sense  of  beauty,  was  greatly  delighted.  "  Why  it's  perfectly 
lovely !"  she  exclaimed :  "  if  I  was  younger,  I'd  get  you  to 
teach  me  how  you  do  it.  You  must  be  sure  and  let  me  see 
the  book  when  it's  finished." 

"  I  don't  see  why  my  Eliza  couldn't  make  me  one  of  the 
flowers  around  Jutnapore,"  said  Miss  Clancy.  "  I'll  mention 
it  in  my  next  letter  to  Miss  Bocrum — the  missionary's  wife, 
you  know.  It  would  be  such  a  nice  thing  for  me  to  remem- 
ber her  by." 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  began  to  drop  in.  Mr.  Merryfield 
arrived,  in  company  with  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder,  member  of 
the  Legislature  for  Atauga  county.  Then  followed  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Waldo,  a  small,  brisk  man,  with  gray  eyes,  a  short  nose, 
set  out  from  his  face  at  a  sharper  angle  than  is  usual  with 
noses,  and  a  mouth  in  which  the  Lord  had  placed  a  set  of 
teeth  belonging  to  a  man  of  twice  his  size — for  which  reason  his 
lips  could  not  entirely  close  over  them.  His  face  thus  received 
an  expression  -of  perpetual  hunger.  The  air  of  isolation,  com- 
mon to  clergymen  of  those  small  and  insignificant  sects  which 
seem  to  exist  by  sheer  force  of  obstinacy,  was  not  very  per- 


A    STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  15 

ceptible  in  him.  It  had  been  neutralized,  if  not  suppressed, 
by  the  force  of  a  strong  animal  temperament.  On  that  side 
of  his  nature,  there  was  no  isolation. 

A  number  of  young  fellows — bashful  hobbledehoys,  or 
over-assured  men  of  two  or  three  and  twenty,  with  rigorously 
fashionable  shirt-collars — now  made  their  appearance  and 
distributed  themselves  through  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue's  rooms. 
In  the  rising  noise  of  conversation  the  more  timid  ventured  to 
use  their  tongues,  and  the  company  soon  became  so  animated 
that  all  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  authority  was  necessary,  to  prevent 
the  younger  ladies  from  neglecting  their  tasks.  The  Cimme- 
rians, as  a  point  of  etiquette,  were  installed  in  the  parlor, 
which  also  accommodated  a  number  of  the  workers  for  the 
Mission  Fund,  the  remainder  being  gathered  in  the  sitting- 
room,  where  Mr.  Styles  and  Mr.  Waldo  carried  on  an  ex- 
ceedingly guarded  and  decorous  conversation.  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton  had  secured  her  coveted  nook  behind  the  staircase  in  the 
hall,  where  she  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Merryfield  and  Miss  Sophia 
Stevenson.  Mrs.  Waldo,  also,  kept  a  chair  at  the  same  table, 
for  the  purpose  of  watching  the  expanding  fern-leaves  in  the 
intervals  of  her  commandership.  Seth  Wattles  tilted  his  chair 
in  a  corner,  eager  for  an  opportunity  to  usurp  the  conver- 
sation. 

Seth  was  an  awkward,  ungainly  person,  whose  clothes  were 
a  continual  satire  on  his  professional  skill.  The  first  impres- 
sion which  the  man  made,  was  the  want  of  compact  form. 
His  clay  seemed  to  have  been  modelled  by  a  bungling  ap- 
prentice, and  imperfectly  baked  afterwards.  The  face  was 
long  and  lumpy  in  outline,  without  a  proper  coherence  be- 
tween the  features — the  forehead  being  sloping  and  contracted 
at  the  temples,  the  skull  running  backwards  in  a  high,  narrow 
ridge.  Thick  hair,  of  a  faded  brown  color,  parted  a  little  on 
one  side,  was  brushed  behind  his  ears,  where  it  hung  in  stiff 
half-curls  upon  a  broad,  falling  shirt-collar,  which  revealed  his 
neck  down  to  the  crest  of  the  breast-bone.  His  eyes  were 
opaque  gray,  prominent,  and  devoid  of  expression.  His  nose 


16  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

was  long  and  coarsely  constructed,  with  blunt  end  and  thick 
nostrils,  and  his  lips,  though  short,  of  that  peculiar,  shapeless  for- 
mation, which  prevents  a  clear  line  of  division  between  them. 
Heavy,  and  of  a  pale  purplish-red  color,  they  seemed  to  run 
together  at  the  inner  edges.  His  hands  were  large  and  hang- 
ing, and  all  his  joints  apparently  knobby  and  loose.  His  skin 
had  that  appearance  of  oily  clamminess  which  belongs  to  such 
an  organization.  Men  of  this  character  seem  to  be  made  of 
sticks  and  putty.  There  is  no  nerve,  no  elasticity,  no  keen, 
alert,  impressible  life  in  any  part  of  their  bodies. 

Leaving  the  ladies  of  the  Fund  to  hear  Mrs.  Boerum's  last 
letter  describing  the  condition  of  her  school  at  Jutnapore,  and 
the  Cimmerians  to  consult  about  the  arrangements  for  their 
Fair,  we  will  join  this  group  in  the  hall.  Mrs.  Waldo  had 
just  taken  her  seat  for  the  seventh  time,  saying:  "Well,  I 
never  shall  get  any  thing  done,  at  this  rate !" — when  her  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  hearing  Hannah  Thurston  say,  in  answer 
to  some  remark  of  Mrs.  Merryfield : 

"It  is  too  cheerful  a  place,  not  to  be  the  home  of  cheer- 
ful and  agreeable  people." 

"  Oh,  you  are  speaking  of  Lakeside,  are  you  not  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  they  say  it's  sold,"  said  Mrs.  Merryfield  ;  "  have  you 
heard  of  it?" 

"  I  believe  Mr.  Waldo  mentioned  it  at  dinner.  It's  a  Mr. 
Woodbury,  or  some  such  name.  And  rich.  He  was  related, 
in  some  way,  to  the  Dennisons.  He's  expected  immediately. 
I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I  want  to  put  him  under  contribution.  Oh, 
how  beautiful !  Did  you  first  copy  the  pattern  from  the 
leaves,  Hannah,  or  do  you  keep  it  in  your  head  ?" 

"  Woodbury  ?  Related  to  the  Dennisons  ?"  mused  Mrs. 
Merryfield.  "Bless  me!  It  can't  be  little  Maxwell — Max. 
we  always  called  him,  that  used  to  be  there  summers — well, 
nigli  twenty  years  ago,  at  least.  But  you  were  not  here 
then,  Mrs.  Waldo — nor  you,  neither,  Hannah.  I  heard  after- 
wards that  he  went  to  Calcutty.  I  remember  him  very 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  17 

well — a  smart,  curly-headed  youngster,  but  knowed  nothing 
about  farming.  Him  and  my  poor  Absalom" — here  she 
smothered  a  rising  sigh — "  used  to  be  a  good  deal  with 
other." 

An  unusual  stir  in  the  sitting-room  interrupted  the  con- 
versation. 

There  were  exclamations — noises  of  moving  chairs — indis- 
tinct phrases — and  presently  the  strong  voice  of  the  Hon. 
Zeno  Harder  was  heard :  "  Very  'happy  to  make  your  ac- 
quaintance,. Sir — very  happy !"  Mrs.  Waldo  slipped  to  the 
door  and  peeped  in,  telegraphing  her  observations  in  whis- 
pers to  the  little  party  behind  the  stairs.  "There's  Mr. 
Hammond — the  lawyer,  you  know,  from  Tiberius,  and  another 
gentleman — a  stranger.  Tall  and  sunburnt,  with  a  moustache 
— but  I  like  his  looks.  Ah  !"  Here  she  darted  back  to  her 
seat.  "  Would  you  believe  it  ? — the  very  man  we  were  talk- 
ing about — Mr.  Woodbury  !" 

In  accordance  with  the  usages  of  Ptolemy  society,  the  new- 
comers were  taken  in  charge  by  the  host,  and  formally  intro- 
duced to  every  person  present.  In  a  few  minutes  the  round 
of  the  sitting-room  was  completed  and  the  party  entered  the 
hall.  Miss  Thurston,  looking  up  with  a  natural  curiosity,  en- 
countered a  pair  of  earnest  brown  eyes,  which  happened,  at 
the  moment,  to  rest  mechanically  upon  her.  Mr.  Hamilton 
Bue  advanced  and  performed  his  office.  The  stranger  bowed 
with  easy  self-possession  and  a  genial  air,  which  asserted  his 
determination  to  enjoy  the  society.  Mrs.  Waldo,  who  was  no 
respecter  of  persons — in  fact,  she  often  declared  that  she 
would  not  be  afraid  of  Daniel  Webster — cordially  gave  him 
her  hand,  exclaiming :  "  We  were  this  minute  talking  of  you, 
Mr.  Woodbury  !  And  I  wished  you  were  here,  that  I  might 
levy  a  contribution  for  our  Sewing-Circle.  But  you're  go- 
ing to  be  a  neighbor,  and  so  I'll  ask  it  in  earnest,  next 
time." 

"  Why  not  now  ?"  said  the  gentleman,  taking  out  his 
purse.  "First  thoughts  are  often  best,  and  you  know  the 


1 8  HANNAH    THTJESTON  I    * 

proverb  about  short  settlements.     Pray  accept  this,  as  a  token 
that  you  do  not  consider  me  a  stranger." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !"  she  cried,  as  she  took  the  bank-note ; 
"  but"  (hesitatingly)  "  is  this  a  donation  to  our  Society,  or 
must  I  divide  it  with  the  others  ?"  The  peculiar  tone  in 
which  the  question  was  put  rendered  but  one  answer  possible. 
No  man  could  have  uttered  it  with  such  artful  emphasis. 

The  constitution  of  the  Sewing-Union  was  explained,  and 
Mr.  Woodbury  purchased  a  universal  popularity  by  equal 
contributions  to  the  three  Circles.  Had  he  been  less  impul- 
sive— less  kindly  inclined  to  create,  at  once,  a  warm  atmos- 
phere around  his  future  home — he  would  not  have  given  so 
much.  The  consequences  of  his  generosity  were  not  long  in 
exhibiting  themselves.  Two  days  afterwards,  the  Seventh- 
Day  Baptists,  at  Atauga  City,  waited  on  him  for  a  subscrip- 
tion towards  the  building  of  their  new  church  ;  and  even  the 
ladies  of  Mulligansville  so  far  conquered  their  antipathy  to 
the  Ptolemy  district,  as  to  apply  for  aid  to  the  Mission  at 
Pulo-Bizam,  in  the  Ladrone  Islands,  which  was  a  subject  of 
their  especial  care. 

The  introduction  of  a  new  element  into  a  society  so  purely 
local  as  that  of  Ptolemy,  is  generally  felt  as  a  constraint. 
Where  the  stranger  is  a  man  of  evident  cultivation,  whose  su- 
periority, in  various  respects,  is  instinctively  felt,  but  would  be 
indignantly  disclaimed  if  any  one  dared  to  assert  it,  there  is, 
especially,  a  covert  fear  of  his  judgment.  His  eye  and  ear  are 
supposed  to  be  intensely  alert  and  critical :  conversation  be- 
comes subdued  and  formal  at  his  approach :  the  romping  youths 
and  maidens  subside  into  decorous  and  tedious  common-places, 
until  the  first  chill  of  his  presence  is  overcome.  Mr.  Wood 
bury  had  tact  enough  to  perceive  and  dissipate  this  impression. 
His  habitual  manners'  were  slightly  touched  with  reserve,  but 
no  man  could  unbend  more  easily  and  gracefully.  To  the  few 
who  remembered  him  as  "  Little  Max." — among  them  Mrs. 
Merryfield — he  manifested  the  cordial  warmth  of  an  old 
friend,  and  laughed  with  a  delight  which  came  from  the 


A    STOBY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  19 

heart,  at  their  mention  of  certain  boyish  mishaps  which  mark- 
ed his  summers  at  Lakeside.  The  laborers  for  the  Mission 
Fund  were  rejoiced  to  learn  that,  though  he  had  never  been  at 
Jutnapore,  yet  he  had  once  seen  Mr.  Boerum,  on  that  gentle- 
man's arrival  at  Calcutta.  ("  What  a  pity  he  did'nt  go  to 
Jutnapore !  He  might  have  told  me  about  my  Eliza,"  re- 
marked Miss  Clancy,  aside.)  In  short,  the  ice  between  Mr. 
Woodbury  and  the  rest  of  the  company  was  broken  so  quickly 
that  even  the  formation  of  the  firs*t  thin  crust  was  scarcely 
perceived.  His  introduction  to  Ptolemy  society  was — in  the 
social  technology  of  Boston — "  a  success." 

Again  the  clacking  of  tongues  rose  high  and  shrill,  lessen- 
ing only  for  a  few  minutes  after  the  distribution  of  wedges  of 
molasses-cake,  offered  by  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue's  black-mitted 
hands.  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue  followed  in  her  wake  with  a  jing- 
ling tray,  covered  with  glasses  of  lemonade,  which  the  ladies 
sipped  delicately.  The  four  spinsters,  observing  that  Mrs. 
Lemuel  Styles  drank  but  the  half  of  her  glass,  replaced  theirs 
also  half-filled,  though  it  went  to  their  hearts  to  do  so.  The 
needles  now  stood  at  ease,  no  longer  marching,  with  even 
stitch,  over  their  parade-grounds  of  silk,  or  cotton,  or  mous- 
seline-de-laine.  One  straggler  after  another  fell  out  of  the 
ranks,  until  it  was  finally  declared  that "  we  have  done  enough 
for  this  evening."  Then  came  singing,  commencing  with 
"  From  Greenland's  Icy  Mountains,"  in  which  half  the  com- 
pany joined.  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson,  who  had  a  good  voice, 
with — it  must  be  admitted — an  occasional  tendency  to  sharps, 
led  the  hymn ;  but  the  parts  were  unequally  distributed, 
which  Mr.  Woodbury  perceiving,  he  struck  in  with  a  rich 
baritone  voice.  This  acquisition  was  immediately  noticed, 
and,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  hymn,  Mrs.  Waldo  requested 
that  he  would  favor  them  with  a  solo. 

"  I  prefer  to  listen,"  he  answered.  "  I  know  none  but  the 
old,  old  songs,  which  you  all  have  heard.  But  you  are  wel- 
come to  one  of  them,  if  you  will  first  let  me  hear  something 
newer  and  fresher."  Unconsciously,  he  had  hit  the  custom 


20  HANNAH   THCTKSTON  : 

of  Ptolemy,  never  to  sing  until  somebody  else  has  first  sung, 
to  encourage  you.     The  difficulty  is,  to  find  the  encourager. 

Mrs.  Waldo  seized  upon  Seth  Wattles,  who,  nothing  loth, 
commenced  in  a  gritty  bass  voice: 

"  "Why-ee  dooz  the  why-eet  man  follah  mee  pawth, 

Like  the  ha-ound  on  the  ty-eeger's  tra-hack  ? 
Dooz  the  flu-hush  on  my  da-hark  cheek  waken  his  wrawth — 
Dooz  he  co-hovet  the  bow  a-hat  mee  ba-hack  ?" 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  song  about  ?"  whispered  Mr. 
Woodbury. 

"  It's  the  Lament  of  the  Indian  Hunter,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo : 
"  he  always  sings  it.  Now  comes  the  chorus :  it's  queer : 
listen!" 

Thereupon,  from  the  cavernous  throat  of  the  singer,  issued 
a  series  of  howls  in  the  minor  key,  something  in  this  wise  : 

"  YO-HO— yo-ho !     Yo-HO-O— yo-HO-ho-Ao-ho !" 

"  After  this,"  thought  Woodbury,  "  they  can  bear  to  hear 
an  old  song,  though  a  thousand  times  repeated."     And  being 
again  pressed,  he  gave  simply,  without  any  attempt  at  brilliancy 
•of  execution :  "  The  Harp  of  Tara." 

There  was  profound  silence,  as  his  voice,  strung  with  true 
masculine  fibre,  rang  through  the  rooms.  Generally,  the  least 
intellectual  persons  sing  with  the  truest  and  most  touching  ex- 
pression, because  voice  and  intellect  are  rarely  combined :  but 
Maxwell  Woodbury's  fine  organ  had  not  been  given  to  him  at 
the  expense  of  his  brain.  It  was  a  lucky  chance  of  nature.  His 
hearers  did  not  really  know  how  admirably  he  interpreted  that 
sigh  of  the  Irish  heart,  but  they  were  pleased,  and  not  nig- 
gardly in  their  expressions  of  delight. 

More  songs  were  called  for,  and  refused.  There  was  the 
usual  coaxing,  and  a  shocking  prevalence  of  hoarseness,  com- 
bined with  sudden  loss  of  memory.  One  young  lady  com- 
menced with  "Isle"  (which  she  pronounced  eye-heel)  "of 
Beauty,"  but  broke  down  at  the  end  of  the  first  verse,  and  all 
the  cries  of:  "Do  go  on  !"  "It's  so  pretty!"  could  not  encour- 


A    STOUT   OF   AMEEICAN   LIFE.  21 

age  her  to  resume.  Finally  some  one,  spying  Hannah  Thurston, 
who  had  folded  up  her  embroidery  and  was  sitting  in  a  shaded 
corner,  cried  out : 

"  Oh,  Miss  Thurston !  Give  us  that  song  you  sang  the  last 
time — that  one  about  the  mountains,  you  know." 

Miss  Thurston  started,  as  if  aroused  out  of  a  profound 
revery,  while  a  flitting  blush,  delicate  and  transient  as  the 
shadow  of  a  rose  tossed  upon  marble,  visited  her  face.  She 
had  felt  and  followed,  word  by  word  and  tone  by  tone,  the 
glorious  Irish  lay.  The  tragic  pathos  of  the  concluding  lines — 

"  For  freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

The  only  throb  she  gives 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks, 
To  show  that  still  she  lives!" 

— thrilled  and  shook  her  with  its  despairing  solemnity.  What 
a  depth  of  betrayed  trust,  of  baffled  aspiration,  it  revealed ! 
Some  dormant  sentiment  in  her  own  heart  leapt  up  and  an- 
swered it,  with  that  quick  inner  pang,  which  would  be  a  cry 
were  it  expressed  in  sound.  Yet  was  the  despair  which  the 
melody  suggested  of  a  diviner  texture  than  joy.  It  was  that 
sadness  of  the  imaginative  nature  which  is  half  triumph,  be- 
cause the  same  illumination  which  reveals  the  hopelessness  of 
its  desires  reveals  also  their  beauty  and  their  divinity. 

The  request  addressed  to  her  was  a  shock  which  recalled 
her  to  herself.  It  was  so  warmly  seconded  that  refusal  would 
have  been  ungracious,  and  a  true  social  instinct  told  her  that 
her  revery,  though  involuntary,  was  out  of  place.  She  prof- 
ited by  the  little  delay  which  ensued  in  order  to  secure  silence 
— for  in  our  country  communities  silence  always  precedes  the 
song — to  recover  her  full  self-possession.  There  was  no  tre- 
mor in  her  voice,  which  soared,  with  the  words,  into  a  still, 
clear  ether,  in  which  the  pictures  of  the  song  stood  out 
pure,  distinct,  and  sublime.  It  was  one  of  those  lyrics  ow 
Mrs.  Hemans,  which  suggest  the  trumpet  at  woman's  lips — 
shorn  of  its  rough  battle-snarl,  its  fierce  notes  tenderly  muf- 


22  HANNAH  THURSTCXff  : 

fled,  but  a  trumpet  still.     She  sang,  with  the  bride  of  tho 
Alpine  hunter : 

"  Thy  heart  is  in  the  upper  world, 

And  where  the  chamois  bound ; 
Thy  heart  is  where  the  mountain-fir 

Shakes  with  the  torrent's  sound: 
And  where  the  snow-peaks  gleam  like  stars 

In  the  stillness  of  the  air, 
And  where  the  lawine's  voice  is  heard, — 

Hunter,  thy  heart  is  there  1" 

It  was  rather  musical  declamation,  than  singing.  Her  voice, 
pure,  sweet,  and  strong,  distinctly  indicated  the  melody,  in- 
stead of  giving  it  positively,  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  mista- 
ken semitone.  It  was  a  ringing  chant  of  that  "  upper  world" 
of  the  glaciers,  where  every  cry  or  call  is  followed  by  a  musi- 
cal echo, — where  every  sound  betrays  the  thin  air  and  the 
boundless  space.  Hannah  Thurston  sang  it  with  a  vision  of 
Alpine  scenery  in  her  brain.  She  saw,  gleaming  in  the  paler 
sunshine,  beneath  the  black-blue  heaven,  the  sharp  horns  of 
frosted  silver,  the  hanging  ledges  of  short  summer  grass,  the 
tumbled  masses  of  gray  rock,  and  the  dust  of  snow  from  fall- 
ing avalanches.  Hence,  he  who  had  once  seen  these  things  in 
their  reality,  saw  them  again  while  listening  to  her.  She  knew 
not,  however,  her  own  dramatic  power :  it  was  enough  that 
she  gave  pleasure. 

Maxwell  Woodbury's  eyes  brightened,  as  the  bleak  and. 
lofty  landscapes  of  the  Bernese  Oberland  rose  before  him. 
Over  the  dark  fir-woods  and  the  blue  ice-caverns  of  the 
Rosenlaui  glacier,  he  saw  the  jagged  pyramid  of  the  Wetter- 
horn,  toppling  in  the  morning  sky ;  and  involuntarily  asked 
himself  what  was  the  magic  which  had  started  that  half-for- 
gotten picture  from  the  chambers  of  his  memory.  How 
should  this  pale,  quiet  girl  who,  in  a  musical  sense,  was  no 
Winger,  and  who  had  assuredly  never  seen  the  Alps,  have 
caught  the  voice  which  haunts  thejr  desolate  glory?  But 
these  were  questions  which  came  afterwards.  The  concluding 


A   STOET   OP   AMEEICAK   LIFE.  23 

verse,  expressing  only  the  patience  and  humility  of  love  in  the 
valley,  blurred  the  sharp  crystal  of  the  first  impression  and 
brought  him  back  to  the  Sewing-Union  without  a  rude  shock 
of  transition.  He  cordially  thanked  the  singer — an  act  rather 
unusual  in  Ptolemy  at  that  time,  and  hence  a  grateful  surprise 
to  Hannah  Thurston,  to  whom  his  words  conveyed  a  more 
earnest  meaning  than  was  demanded  by  mere  formal  cour- 
tesy. 

By  this  time  the  assembled  company  had  become  very 
genial  and  unconstrained.  The  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles  had  entirely 
forgotten  the  levity  of  Mrs.  Bue's  illumination,  and  even  in- 
dulged in  good-humored  badinage  (of  a  perfectly  mild  and 
proper  character)  with  Mrs.  Waldo.  The  others  were  gath- 
ered into  little  groups,  cheerfully  chatting — the  young  gentle- 
men and  ladies  apart  from  the  married  people.  Scandal  was 
sugar-coated,  in  order  to  hide  its  true  character :  love  put  on 
a  bitter  and  prickly  outside,  to  avoid  the  observation  of  oth- 
ers :  all  the  innocent  disguises  of  Society  were  in  as  full  opera- 
tion as  in  the  ripened  atmosphere  of  great  cities. 

The  nearest  approach  to  a  discord  was  in  a  somewhat  heated 
discussion  on  the  subject  of  Slavery,  which  grew  up  between 
Seth  Wattles  and  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder.  The  latter  was 
vehement  in  his  denunciation  of  the  Abolitionists,  to  which 
the  former  replied  by  quoting  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence. The  two  voices — either  of  them  alike  unpleasant  to  a 
sensitive  ear — finally  became  loud  enough  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  Mrs.  Waldo,  who  had  a  keen  scent  for  opportunities 
for  the  exercise  of  her  authority. 

"Come,  come !"  she  cried,  placing  one  hand  on  Seth's  shoul- 
der, while  she  threatened  the  Honorable  Zeno  with  the  other : 
"  this  is  forbidden  ground.  The  Sewing-Union  would  never 
hold  together,  if  we  allowed  such  things.  Besides,  what's  the 
use  ?  You  two  would  talk  together  all  night,  I'll  warrant,  and 
be  no  nearer  agreeing  in  the  morning."  fe 

"No,"  cried  Seth,  "because  your  party  politicians  ignore 
the  questions  of  humanity!" 


24  HANNAH  THUESTON 


"And  your  fanatical  abstractionists  never  look  at  any  thing 
in  a  practical  way!"  rejoined  the  Honorable  Zeno. 

"And  both  are  deficient  in  a  sense  of  propriety  —  I  shall 
have  to  say,  if  you  don't  stop,"  was  Mrs.  Waldo's  ready  com- 
ment. 

This  little  episode  had  attracted  a  few  spectators,  who 
were  so  evidently  on  Mrs.  Waldo's  side,  that  "  the  Judge," 
as  the  Hon.  Zeno  was  familiarly  called,  at  once  saw  the  politic 
course,  and  rising  magnificently,  exclaimed  :  "  Although  we 
don't  advocate  Women's  Rights,  we  yield  to  woman's  author- 
ity." Then,  bowing  with  corpulent  condescension,  he  passed 
away.  Seth  Wattles,  having  no  longer  an  opponent,  was  con- 
demned to  silence. 

In  the  mean  time,  it  had  been  whispered  among  the  company 
that  the  next  meeting  of  the  Union  would  be  held  at  the 
Merryfield  farm-house,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Ptolemy.  This 
had  been  arranged  by  the  prominent  ladies,  after  a  good  deal 
of  consultation.  Mr.  Merryfield  still  belonged  to  the  congre- 
gation of  the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles,  although  not  in  very  good 
repute.  His  form-house  was  large  and  spacious,  and  he  was 
an  excellent  "  provider,"  especially  for  his  guests.  Moreover, 
he  was  the  only  one  of  the  small  clan  of  Abolitionists,  who 
could  conveniently  entertain  the  Union,  —  so  that  in  him  were 
discharged  all  the  social  obligations  which  the  remaining  mem- 
bers could  fairly  exact.  The  four  spinsters,  indeed,  had  ex 
changed  patient  glances,  as  much  as  to  say  :  "  This  is  a  cross 
which  we  must  needs  bear."  Mr.  Merryfield,  be  it  known, 
had  refused  to  contribute  to  Foreign  Missions,  on  the  ground 
that  we  had  already  too  many  black  heathen  at  home.  The 
younger  persons,  nevertheless,  were  very  well  satisfied,  arid 
thus  the  millennial  advance  of  Ptolemy  was  not  interrupted. 

The  more  staid  guests  had  now  taken  leave,  and  there  was 

presently  d,  general  movement  of  departure.      The  ladies  put 

&\\  their  bonnets  and  shawls  in  the  best  bedroom  up-stairs,  and 

the  gentlemen  picked  out  their  respective  hats  and  coats  from 

the  miscellaneous  heap  on  the  kitchen  settee.      The  hall-door 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  25 

was  unlocked  to  facilitate  egress,  and  lively  groups  lingered 
on  the  stairs,  in  the  doorway,  and  on  the  piazza.  The  gen- 
tlemen dodged  about  to  secure  their  coveted  privilege  of 
escort :  now  and  then  a  happy  young  pair  slipped  away  in  the 
belief  that  they  were  unnoticed :  there  were  calls  of  "  Do 
come  and  see  us,  now!" — last  eager  whispers  of  gossip,  a  great 
do  til  of  superfluous  female  kissing,  and  the  final  remarks  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue  :  "  Goo4-bye  !  we've  had  a  nice 
time!" — as  the  company  filtered  away. 

.  When  the  last  guest  had  disappeared,  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue 
carefully  closed  and  locked  the  doors,  and  then  remarked  to 
his  wife,  who  was  engaged  in  putting  out  the  extra  lamps : 
"  Well,  Martha,  I  think  we've  done  very  well,  though  I  say  it 
that  shouldn't.  Mr.  Styles  liked  your  tea,  and  the  cake  must 
have  been  pretty  good,  judging  from  the  way  they  stowed  it 
out  of  sight." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bue ;  "I  was  afraid  at  one  time,  there 
wouldn't  be  enough  to  go  round.  It's  well  I  made  up  my 
mind,  at  the  last  minute,  to  bake  five  instead  of  four.  Mo- 
lasses is  so  high." 

"  Oh,  what's  the  odds  of  two  shillings  more  or  less,"  her 
husband  consolingly  remarked,  "  when  you've  got  to  make  a 
regular  spread  ?  Besides,  I  guess  I'll  clear  expenses,  by  per- 
suading Woodbury  to  insure  his  house  in  our  concern.  Den- 
nisons  always  took  the  Etna." 
2 


26  HANNAH  THUBSTON  I 


CHAPTER  H. 

MR.  WOODBTJRY'S  INTRODUCTION  TO  LAKESIDE. 

ON  the  very  day  when  the  Sewing-Union  met  in  Ptolemy, 
there  was  an  unusual  commotion  at  Lakeside.  Only  four  or 
five  days  had  elapsed  since  the  secluded  little  household  had 
been  startled  by  the  news  that  the  old  place  was  finally  sold, 
and  now  a  short  note  had  arrived  from  Mr.  Hammond,  of  Ti- 
berius, who  was  the  agent  for  the  estate,  stating  that  the  new 
owner  would  probably  make  his  appearance  in  the  course  of 
the  day. 

The  first  thing  that  suggested  itself  to  the  distracted  mind 
of  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb,  the  housekeeper,  was  immediately  to 
summon  old  Melinda,  a  negro  woman,  whose  specialty  was 
house-cleaning.  Had  there  been  sufficient  time,  Mrs.  Babb 
would  have  scoured  the  entire  dwelling,  from  garret  to  cellar. 
A  stranger,  indeed,  would  have  remarked  no  appearance  of 
disorder,  or  want  of  proper  cleanliness,  anywhere :  but  the 
tall  housekeeper,  propping  her  hands  upon  her  hips,  exclaimed, 
in  despair  :  "  Whatever  shall  I  do  ?  There 's  hardly  time  to 
have  the  rooms  swep',  let  alone  washin'  the  wood-work. 
Then,  ag'in,  I  dunno  which  o'  the  two  bed-rooms  he'd  like 
best.  Why  couldn't  Mr.  Hammond  hold  him  back,  till  things 
was  decent  ?  And  the  libery  's  been  shet  up,  this  ever  so 
long ;  and  there's  bakin'  to  do — squinch  tarts,  and  sich  likes 
— and  you  must  kill  two  chickens,  Arbutus,  right  away !" 

"  Don't  be  worried,  Mother  Forty,"  replied  Arbutus  Wil- 
son, the  stout  young  man  whom  Mrs.  Babb  addressed,  "  things 
a  'n't  lookin'  so  bad,  after  all.  Max. — well,  Mr.  Woodbury,  I 
must  say  now,  though  it'll  go  rather  queer,  at  first — was  al- 
ways easy  satisfied,  when  he  was  here  afore." 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  27 

"  I  reckon  you  think  people  doesn't  change  in  twenty  year. 
There's  no  tellin'  what  sort  of  a  man  he's  got  to  be.  But 
here  comes  Melindy.  I  guess  I'll  open  the  libery  and  let  it 
air,  while  she  fixes  the  bedrooms." 

Mrs.  Babb's  nervousness  had  a  deeper  cause  than  the  con- 
dition of  the  Lakeside  mansion.  So  many  years  had  elapsed 
since  she  first  came  to  the  place  as  housekeeper,  that  it  seemed 
to  have  become  her  own  property  .as  surely  as  that  of  the 
Dennison  family.  The  death  of  Mrs.  Dennison,  eight  months 
before,  recalled  her  to  the  consciousness  of  her  uncertain  ten- 
ure. Now,  since  the  estate  was  finally  sold  and  the  new 
owner  about  to  arrive,  a  few  days,  in  all  probability,  would 
determine  whether  her  right  was  to  be  confirmed  or  herself 
turned  adrift  upon  the  world.  Although  her  recollections  of 
Maxwell  Woodbury,  whose  last  visit  to  Lakeside  occurred 
during  the  first  year  of  her  reign,  were  as  kindly  as  was  con- 
sistent with  her  rigid  nature,  she  awaited  his  arrival  with  a 
mixture  of  jealousy  and  dread.  True,  he  was  somewhat 
nearer  to  her  than  those  relatives  of  Mrs.  Dennison  who  had 
inherited  the  property  at  her  death,  for  the  latter  Mrs.  Babb 
had  never  seen,  while  him  she  had  both  gently  scolded  and 
severely  petted  :  but  she  felt  that  the  removal  of  Arbutus 
Wilson  and  herself  from  the  place  would  be  a  shameful  piece 
of  injustice,  and  the  fact  that  such  removal  was  possible  indi- 
cated something  wrong  in  the  world. 

Arbutus,  who  was  a  hardy,  healthy,  strapping  fellow,  of 
eight-and-twenty,  was  her  step-step-son,  if  there  can  be  such  a 
relation.  His  father,  who  died  shortly  after  his  birth,  was  one 
of  those  uneducated,  ignorant  men,  whose  ears  are  yet  quick  to 
catch  and  retain  any  word  of  grandiloquent  sound.  Nothing 
delighted  him  so  much  as  to  hear  the  Biblical  genealogies 
read.  He  had  somewhere  picked  up  the  word  arlutus^  the 
sound  of  which  so  pleased  him  that  he  at  once  conferred  it 
upon  his  baby,  utterly  unconscious  of  its  meaning.  A  year  or 
two  after  his  death,  the  widow  Wilson  married  Jason  Babb, 
an  honest,  meek-natured  carpenter,  who  proved  a  good  father 


28  HANNAH   THUESTON  : 

to  the  little  Arbutus.  She,  however,  was  carried  away  by  a 
malignant  fever,  in  the  first  year  of  her  second  marriage.  The 
widower,  who  both  mourned  and  missed  her,  cherished  her 
child  with  a  conscientious  fidelity,  and  it  was  quite  as  much 
from  a  sense  of  duty  towards  the  boy,  as  from  an  inclination 
of  the  heart,  that  he  married  Miss  Fortitude  Winterbottom,  a 
tall,  staid,  self-reliant  creature,  verging  on  spinsterhood. 

The  Fates,  however,  seemed  determined  to  interfere  with 
Jason  Babb's  connubial  plans ;  but  the  next  time  it  was  upon 
himself,  and  not  upon  his  wife,  that  the  lot  fell.  Having  no 
children  of  his  own,  by  either  wife,  he  besought  Fortitude, 
with  his  latest  breath,  to  be  both  father  and  mother  to  the 
doubly-orphaned  little  Bute  Wilson.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  Mrs.  Babb  faithfully  performed  her  promise.  The  true 
feeling  of  parental  tenderness  had  never  been  granted  to  her, 
and  the  sense  of  responsibility — of  ownership — which  came  in 
its  stead — was  a  very  mild  substitute ;  but  it  impressed  the 
boy,  at  least,  with  a  consciousness  of  care  and  protection, 
which  satisfied  his  simple  nature.  Mrs.  Dennison,  with  her 
kind  voice,  and  gentle,  resigned  old  face,  seemed  much  more 
the  mother,  while  Mrs.  Babb,  with  her  peremptory  ways  and 
strict  idea  of  discipline,  unconsciously  assumed  for  him  the 
attitude  of  a  father.  The  latter  had  come  to  Lakeside  at  a 
time  when  Mr.  Dennison's  confirmed  feebleness  required  his 
wife  to  devote  herself  wholly  to  his  care.  Mrs.  Babb,  there 
fore,  took  charge  of  the  house,  and  Arbutus,  at  first  a  younger 
companion  of  Henry  Dennison,  afterwards  an  active  farm-boy, 
finally  developed  into  an  excellent  farmer,  and  had  almost  the 
exclusive  management  of  the  estate  for  some  years  before  Mrs. 
Dennison's  death. 

Thus  these  two  persons,  with  an  Irish  field-hand,  had  been 
the  only  occupants  of  Lakeside,  during  the  summer  and  au- 
tumn. Arbutus,  or  Bute,  as  he  was  universally  called  in  the 
neighborhood,  was  well-pleased  with  the  news  of  Mr.  Wood- 
bury's  purchase.  He  remembered  him,  indistinctly,  as  the 
"  town-boy"  who  gave  him  his  first  top  and  taught  him  how 


A   STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  29 

to  spin  it,  though  the  big  fellow  couldn't  tell  a  thrush's  egg 
from  a  robin's,  and  always  said  "  tortoise"  instead  of  "  tortle." 
Bute  thought  they'd  get  along  together  somehow — or,  if  they 
didn't,  he  could  do  as  well  somewheres  else,  he  reckoned. 
Nevertheless,  he  felt  anxious  that  the  owner  should  receive  a 
satisfactory  impression  on  his  arrival,  and  busied  himself,  with 
Patrick's  assistance,  in  "  setting  every  thing  to  rights"  about 
the  barn  and  out-houses. 

After  all,  there  was  scarcely  need  of  such  hurried  prepa- 
ration. Mr.  Hammond  and  Woodbury,  detained  by  some 
necessary  formalities  of  the  law,  did  not  leave  Tiberius  until 
the  afternoon  of  that  day.  The  town  being  situated  at  the 
outlet  of  Atauga  Lake,  they  took  the  little  steamer  to  Atauga 
City,  near  its  head,  in  preference  to  the  long  road  over  the 
hills.  The  boat,  with  a  heavy  load  of  freight,  made  slow  pro- 
gress, and  it  was  dusk  before  they  passed  the  point  on  the 
eastern  shore,  beyond  which  Lakeside  is  visible  from  the 
water.  On  reaching  Ptolemy  by  the  evening  stage  from 
Atauga  City,  Maxwell  Woodbury  found  •  the  new  "  Ptolemy 
House"  so  bright  and  cheerful,  that  he  immediately  proposed 
their  remaining  for  the  night,  although  within  four  miles  of 
their  destination. 

"  I  have  a  fancy  for  approaching  the  old  place  by  daylight," 
said  he  to  his  companion.  "  Here  begins  my  familiar  ground, 
and  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  the  smallest  test  of  memory. 
Besides,  I  am  not  sure  what  kind  of  quarters  I  should  be  able 
to  offer  you,  on  such  short  notice." 

"  Let  us  stay,  then,  by  all  means,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  I  can 
appreciate  feelings,  although  I  am  occupied  entirely  with 
deeds"  Here  he  quietly  chuckled,  and  was  answered  by  a 
roar  from  the  landlord,  who  came  up  in  time  to  hear  the 
remark. 

"Ha!  ha!  Good,  Mr.  Hammond!"  exclaimed  the  latter. 
"Very  happy  to  entertain  you,  gentlemen.  Mr.  Woodbury 
can  have  the  Bridal  Chamber,  if  he  likes.  But  you  should  go 
to  the  Great  Sewing-Union,  gentlemen.  You  will  find  all 


30  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

Ptolemy  there  to-night.  It's  at  Hamilton  Bue's :  you  know 
him,  Mr.  Hammond— Director  of  the  Bank." 

The  results  of  this  advice  have  already  been  described. 
After  breakfast,  on  the  following  morning,  the  two  gentlemen 
set  out  for  Lakeside  in  a  light  open  carnage.  It  was  one  of 
the  last  days  of  the  Indian  summer,  soft  and  hazy,  with  a  fore- 
boding of  winter  in  the  air.  The  hills,  enclosing  the  head  of 
the  lake,  and  stretching  away  southwards,  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  two  valleys,  which  unite  just  behind  Ptolemy,  loomed 
through  their  blue  veil  with  almost  the  majesty  of  mountain 
ranges.  The  green  of  the  pine-forests  on  their  crests,  and  of 
those  ragged  lines  of  the  original  woods  which  marked  the 
courses  of  the  descending  ravines,  was  dimmed  and  robbed  of  its 
gloom.  The  meadows  extending  towards  the  lake  were  still 
fresh,  and  the  great  elms  by  the  creek-side  had  not  yet  shed 
all  of  their  tawny  leaves.  A  moist,  fragrant  odor  of  decay  per- 
vaded the  atmosphere,  and  the  soft  southwestern  wind,  occasion- 
ally stealing  down  the  further  valley,  seemed  to  blow  the  som- 
bre colors  of  the  landscape  into  dying  flickers  of  brightness. 

As  they  crossed  the  stream  to  the  eastward  of  the  village, 
and  drove  along  the  base  of  the  hills  beyond,  Woodbury  ex- 
clnimed : 

"  You  cannot  possibly  understand,  Mr.  Hammond,  how 
refreshing  to  me  are  these  signs  of  the  coming  winter,  after 
nearly  fifteen  years  of  unbroken  summer.  I  shall  enjoy  the 
change  doubly  here,  among  the  scenes  of  the  only  country-life 
which  I  ever  knew  in  America, — where  I  was  really  happiest, 
as  a  boy.  I  suppose,"  he  added,  laughing,  "now  that  the 
business  is  over,  I  may  confess  to  you  how  much  I  congratu- 
late myself  on  having  made  the  purchase." 

"  As  if  I  did  not  notice  how  anxious  you  were  to  buy !"  re- 
joined the  lawyer.  "  You  must  be  strongly  attached  to  the 
old  place,  to  take  it  on  the  strength  of  former  associations.  I 
wish  it  were  nearer  Tiberius,  that  we  might  have  more  of  your 
society.  Did  you  pass  much  of  your  youth  here?" 

"  Only  my  summers,  from  the  age  of  twelve  to  fifteen.     My 


A   STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  81 

constitution  was  rather  delicate  when  I  was  young,  and  Mrs. 
Dennisou,  who  was  a  distant  relative  of  my  father,  and  some- 
times visited  us  in  "New  York,  persuaded  him  to  let  me  try 
the  air  of  Lakeside.  Henry  was  about  my  own  age,  and  we 
soon  became  great  friends.  The  place  was- a  second  home  to 
me,  thenceforth,  until  my  father's  death.  Even  after  I  went 
to  Calcutta,  I  continued  to  correspond  with  Henry,  but  my 
last  letter  from  Lakeside  was  written'by  his  mother,  after  his 
body  was  brought  home  from  Mexico." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  "the  old  lady  fairly  broke 
down  after  that.  Henry  was  a  fine  fellow  and  a  promising 
officer,  and  I  believe  she  would  "have  borne  his  loss  better,  had 
he  fallen  in  battle.  But  he  lingered  a  long  time  in  the  hospi- 
tal, and  she  was  just  beginning  to  hope  for  his  recovery,  when 
the  news  of  his  death  came  instead.  But  see !  there  is  Roar- 
ing Brook.  Do  you  hear  the  noise  of  the  fall  ?  How  loud  it 
is  this  morning !" 

The  hill,  curving  rapidly  to  the  eastward,  rose  abruptly  from 
the  meadows  in  a  succession  of  shelving  terraces,  the  lowest  of 
which  was  faced  with  a  wall  of  dark  rock,  in  horizontal  strata, 
but  almost  concealed  from  view  by  the  tall  forest  trees  which 
grew  at  its  base.  The  stream,  issuing  from  a  glen  which  de- 
scended from  the  lofty  upland  region  to  the  eastward  of  the 
lake,  poured  itself  headlong  from  the  brink  of  the  rocky  steep, 
— a  glittering  silver  thread  in  summer,  a  tawny  banner  of 
angry  sound  in  the  autumn  rains.  Seen  through  the  hazy  air, 
its  narrow  white  column  seemed  to  stand  motionless  between 
the  pines,  and  its  mellowed  thunder  to  roll  from  some  region 
beyond  the  hills. 

Woodbury,  who  had  been  looking  steadily  across  the  mead- 
ows to  the  north,  cried  out :  "  It  is  the  same — it  has  not  yet 
run  itself  dry !  Now  we  shall  see  Lakeside ;  but  no — yet  I 
certainly  used  to  see  the  house  from  this  point.  Ah !  twenty 
years !  I  had  forgotten  that  trees  cannot  stand  still ;  that 
ash,  or  whatever  it  is,  has  quite  filled  up  the  gap.  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  find  greater  changes  than  this." 


32  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

His  eyes  mechanically  fell,  as  the  wheels  rumbled  suddenly 
on  the  plank  bridge  over  Roaring  Brook.  Mr.  Hammond  looked 
up,  gave  the  horse  a  skilful  dash  of  the  whip  and  shot  past 
the  trees  which  lined  the  stream.  "  Look  and  see !"  he  pres- 
ently said. 

The  old  place,  so  familiar  to  Woodbury,  and  now  his  own 
property,  lay  before  him.  There  was  the  heavy  white  house, 
with  its  broad  verandah,  looking  southward  from  the  last  low 
shelf  of  the  hills,  which  rose  behind  it  on  their  westward 
sweep  back  to  the  lake.  The  high-road  to  Anacreon  and 
thence  to  Tiberius,  up  the  eastern  shore,  turned  to  the  right 
and  ascended  to  the  upland,  through  a  long  winding  glen. 
A  small  grove  of  evergreens  still  further  protected  the  house 
on  its  northwestern  side,  so  that  its  position  was  unusually 
sunny  and  sheltered.  The  head  of  the  lake,  the  meadows 
around  Ptolemy  and  the  branching  valleys  beyond,  were  all 
visible  from  the  southern  windows ;  and  though  the  hills  to 
the  east  somewhat  obscured  the  sunrise,  the  evenings  wore  a 
double  splendor — in  the  lake  and  in  the  sky. 

"Poor  Henry!"  whispered  Wpodbury  to  himself,  as  Mr. 
Hammond  alighted  to  open  the  gate  into  the  private  lane. 
The  house  had  again  disappeared  from  view,  behind  the  rise 
of  the  broad  knoll  upon  which  it  stood,  and  their  approach 
was  not  visible  until  they  had  reached  the  upper  level,  with 
its  stately  avenue  of  sugar-maples,  extending  to  the  garden 
wall. 

The  place  was  really  unchanged,  to  all  appearance.  Per- 
haps the  clumps  of  lilac  and  snowball,  along  the  northern 
wall  were  somewhat  higher,  and  the  apple-trees  in  the  orchard 
behind  the  house  more  gnarled  and  mossy ;  but  the  house  it- 
self, the  turfed  space  before  it,  the  flagged  walk  leading  to  the 
door,  the  pyramids  of  yew  and  juniper,  were  the  same  as 
ever,  and  the  old  oaks  at  each  corner  seemed,  twig  for  twig, 
to  have  stood  still  for  twenty  years.  A  few  bunches  of  chrys- 
anthemum, somewhat  nipped  by  the  frost,  gave  their  sober 
autumnal  coloring  and  wholesome  bitter-sweet  odor  to  the 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  33 

garden-alleys.  The  late  purple  asters  were  shrivelled  and 
drooping,  and  the  hollyhocks  stood  like  desolate  floral  towers, 
tottering  over  the  summer's  ruin. 

For  the  first  time  in  twenty  years,  Woodbury  felt  the  al- 
most forgotten  sensation  of  home  steal  through  his  heart. 
Quickly  and  silently  he  recognized  each  familiar  object,  and 
the  far-off  days  of  the  past  swept  into  the  nearness  of  yester- 
day. His  ear  took  no  note  of  Mr.  Hammond's  rattling  re- 
marks: the  latter  was  not  precisely  the  man  whose  atmosphere 
lures  forth  the  hidden  fragrance  of  one's  nature. 

As  they  drove  along  the  garden-wall,  a  strong  figure  ap- 
peared, approaching  with  eager  strides.  He  glanced  first  at 
the  horse  and  carriage.  "Fairlamb's  Kvery — the  bay,"  was 
his  mental  remark.  The  next  moment  he  stood  at  the  gate, 
waiting  for  them  to  alight. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hammond?"  he  cried.  "You're 
late  a-comin' :  we  expected  ye  las'  night.  And  is  this  really 
Mr.  Maxwell,  I  mean  Mr.  Woodbury — well,  I'd  never  ha 
knowed  him.  I  s'pose  you  don't  know  me,  nuther,  Mr. 
Max.?" 

"  God  bless  me  !  it  must  be  little  Bute !"  exclaimed  Wood- 
bury,  taking  the  honest  fellow's  hand.  "  Yes,  I  see  it  now — 
man  instead  of  boy,  but  the  same  fellow  still." 

"Yes,  indeed,  that  I  be!"  asserted  the  delighted  Arbu- 
tus. He  meant  much  more  than  the  words  indicated. 
Fully  expressed,  his  thoughts  would  have  run  something  in 
this  wise :  "  I  guess  we  can  git  on  together,  as  well  as 
when  we  was  boys.  If  you  ha'n't  changed>  I  ha'n't.  I'll 
do  my  dooty  towards  ye,  and  you  won't  be  disapp'inted  in 
me." 

In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  had  made  her  ap- 
pearance, clad  in  the  black  bombazine  which  she  had  pur- 
chased for  Jason's  funeral,  and  was  waiting,  tall  and  rigid,  but 
with  considerable  internal  "  flusteration  "  (as  she  would  have 
expressed  it),  on  the  verandah.  One  mental  eye  was  directed 
towards  the  new  owner,  and  the  other  to  the  fowls  in  the 


34  HANNAH   THT7KSTON.          / 

kitchen,  which  she  had  cut  up  the  evening  before,  for  a  fric- 
assee, and  which  were  thus  rendered  unfit  for  roasting.  "Why, 
he's  a  perfick  stranger  !"  "  If  there's  only  time  to  make  a  pie 
of  'em !"  were  the  two  thoughts  which  crossed  each  other  in 
her  brain. 

"Mrs.  Babb!  there's  no  mistaking  who  you  are!"  exclaimed 
Woodbury,  as  he  hastened  with  outstretched  hand  up  the 
nagged  walk. 

The  old  housekeeper  gave  him  her  long,  bony  hand  in 
return,  and  made  an  attempt  at  a  courtesy,  a  thing  which 
she  had  not  done  for  so  long  that  one  of  her  knee-joints 
cracked  with  the  effort.  "  Welcome,  Sir  !"  said  she,  with  be- 
coming gravity.  Woodbury  thought  she  did  not  recognize 
him. 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember  Max.  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  recollex  you  as  you  was.  And  now  I  come  to 
look,  your  eyes  is  jist  the  same.  Dear,  dear!"  and  in  spite 
of  herself  two  large  tears  slowly  took  their  way  down  her 
lank  cheeks.  "  If  Miss  Dennison  and  Henry  could  be  here !" 
Then  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  rather  than  spoil  the 
corner  of  her  black  silk  apron.  Stiffening  her  features  the 
next  moment,  she  turned  away,  exclaiming  in  a  voice  un- 
necessarily sharp :  "  Arbutus,  why  don't  you  put  away  the 
horse  ?" 

The  gentlemen  entered  the  house.  The  hall-door  had  evi- 
dently not  been  recently  used,  for  the  lock  grated  with  a 
sound  of  rust.  The  sitting-room  on  the  left  and  the  library 
beyond,  were  full  of  hazy  sunshine  and  cheerful  with  the 
crackling  of  fires  on  the  open  hearth.  Dust  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen,  but  the  chairs  stood  as  fixedly  in  their  formal  places  as 
if  screwed  to  the  floor,  and  the  old  books  seemed  to  be  glued 
together  in  regular  piles.  None  of  the  slight  tokens  of  habit- 
ual occupation  caught  the  eye — no  pleasant  irregularity  of  do- 
mestic life, — a  newspaper  tossed  here,  a  glove  there,  a  chair 
placed  obliquely  to  a  favorite  window,  or  a  work-stand  or 
foot-stool  drawn  from  its  place.  Mrs.  Babb,  it  is  true,  with  a 


A   STOUT   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  35 

desperate  attempt  at  ornament,  had  gathered  the  most  pre- 
sentable of  the  chrysanthemums,  with  some  sprigs  of  arbor- 
vita3,  and  stuck  them  into  an  old  glass  flower-jar.  Their 
pungent  odor  helped  to  conceal  the  faint  musty  smell  which 
still  lingered  in  the  unused  rooms. 

"I  think  we  will  sit  here,  Mrs.  Babb,"  said  Woodbury, 
leading  the  way  into  the  library.  "  It  was  always  my  favorite 
room,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  lawyer,  "  and  it  has  the  finest 
view  of  the  lake." 

"  I'm  afeard  that's  all  you'll  have,"  the  housekeeper  grimly 
remarked.  "  Things  is  terrible  upside-down :  you  come  so 
onexpected.  An  empty  house  makes  more  bother  than  a  full 
one.  But  you're  here  now,  an'  you'll  have  to  take  it  sich  as 
it  is." 

Therewith  she  retired  to  the  kitchen,  where  Bute  soon 
joined  her. 

"Well,  Mother  Forty,"  he  asked,  "how  do  ypu  like  his 
looks?  He's  no  -more  changed  than  I  am,  only  on  th'  out- 
side. I  don't  s'pose  he  knows  more  than  ever  about  farmin', 
but  he's  only  got  to  let  me  alone  and  things  '11  go  right." 

"  Looks  is  nothin',"  the  housekeeper  answered.  "  Hand- 
some is  that  handsome  does,  I  say.  Don't  whistle  till  you're 
out  o'  the  woods,  Bute.  Not  but  what  I'd  ruther  have  him 
here  than  some  o'  them  people  down  to  Po'keepsy,  that  never 
took  no  notice  o'  her  while  she  lived." 

"There's  no  mistake,  then,  about  his  havin'  bought  the 
farm?" 

"  I  guess  not,  but  I'll  soon  see." 

She  presently  appeared  in  the  library,  with  a  pitcher  of 
cider  and  two  glasses  on  a  tray,  and  a  plate  of  her  best  "jum- 
bles." "  There's  a  few  bottles  o'  Madary  in  the  cellar,"  she 
said ;  "  but  you  know  I  can't  take  nothin'  without  your  leave, 
Mr.  Hammond — leastways,  onless  it's  all  fixed." 

Woodbury,  however,  quietly  answered:  "Thank  you,  we 
will  leave  the  wine  until  dinner.  You  can  give  us  a  meal,  I 
presume,  Mrs.  Babb  ?" 


36  HANNAH   THUESTON. 

"  'T  wo'nt  be  what  I'd  like.  I'd  reckoned  on  a  supper  las' 
night,  instid  of  a  dinner  to-day.  Expect  it  '11  be  pretty  much 
pot-luck.  However,  I'll  do  what  I  can." 

Mrs.  Babb  then  returned  to  the  kitchen,  satisfied,  at  least, 
that  Mr.  Maxwell  Woodbury  was  now  really  the  master  of 
Lakeside 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  37 


CHAPTER  III. 

AN    EVENING    OF     GOSSIP,     IN    WHICH    WE     LEARN    SOMETHING 
ABOUT   THE   PERSONS   ALREADY    MENTIONED. 

AFTER  a  long  absence  in  India,  Woodbury  had  come  home 
to  find  all  his  former  associations  broken,  even  the  familiar 
landmarks  of  his  boyish  life  destroyed.  His  only  near  relative 
was  an  older  sister,  married  some  years  before  his  departure, 
and  now  a  stately  matron,  who  was  just  beginning  to  enjoy  a 
new  importance  in  society  from  the  beauty  of  her  daughters. 
There  was  a  small  corner  in  her  heart,  it  is  true,  for  the  exiled 
brother.  The  floor  was  swept,  there;  the  room  aired,  and 
sufficient  fire  kept  burning  on  the  hearth,  to  take  off  the  chill : 
but  it  was  the  chamber  of  an  occasional  guest  rather  than  of 
an  habitual  inmate.  She  was  glad  to  see  him  back  again,  es- 
pecially as  his  manners  were  thoroughly  refined  and  his  wealth 
was  supposed  to  be  large  (indeed,  common  report  greatly 
magnified  it) :  she  would  have  lamented  his  death,  and  have 
worn  becoming  mourning  for  him — would  even  have  per- 
suaded her  husband  to  assist  him,  had  he  returned  penni- 
less. In  short,  Woodbury  could  not  complain  of  his  recep- 
tion, and  the  absence  of  a  more  intimate  relation — of  a  sweet, 
sympathetic  bond,  springing  from  kinship  of  heart  as  well  as 
of  blood,  was  all  the  more  lightly  felt  because  such  bond  had 
never  previously  existed. 

In  the  dreams  of  home  which  haunted  him  in  lonely  hours, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hoogly  or  the  breezy  heights  of  Darjeel- 
ing,  Lakeside  always  first  arose,  and  repeated  itself  most  fre- 
quently and  distinctly.  "  Aunt  Dennison,"  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  call  her,  took  the  place,  in  his  affectionate  memory, 


38      *  HANXAH   THUKSTON. 

of  the  lost  mother  whose  features  he  could  trace  but  dimly 
far  back  in  the  faint  consciousness  of  childhood.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  other  spot  in  the  world  to  which  he  had  a 
natural  right  to  return.  The  friends  whom  he  had  left,  in 
New  York,  as  a  young  man  of  twenty-one,  had  become  rest- 
less, impetuous  men  of  business,  from  whose  natures  every 
element  of  calm  had  been  shaken,  while  he  had  slowly  and 
comfortably  matured  his  manhood  in  the  immemorial  repose 
of  Asia.  The  atmosphere  of  the  city  at  first  excited,  then 
wearied  him.  The  wish  to  visit  Lakeside  was  increasing  in 
his  mind,  when  he  was  one  day  startled  by  seeing  the  prop- 
erty advertised  for  sale,  and  instantly,  determined  to  become 
the  purchaser.  A  correspondence  with  Mr.  Hammond  en- 
sued, and,  as  there  was  another  competitor  in  the  field,  Wood- 
bury's  anxiety  to  secure  the  old  place  led  him  to  close  the 
negotiations  before  he  had  found  time  to  see  it  again.  Now, 
however,  he  had  made  arrangements  to  spend  the  greater  part 
of  the  winter  there,  as  much  on  account  of  the  certain  repose 
and  seclusion  which  he  craved,  as  from  the  physical  necessity 
of  that  tonic  which  the  dry  cold  of  the  inland  offered  to  his 
languid  tropical  blood. 

No  disposal  had  yet  been  made  of  the  stock  and  implements 
belonging  to  the  farm,  which  had  not  been  included  in  the 
purchase  of  the  estate.  Woodbury's  object  in  buying  the 
land  had  no  reference  to  any  definite  plan  of  his  future  life. 
He  had  come  back  from  India  with  a  fortune  which,  though 
moderate,  absolved  him  from  the  necessity  of  labor.  He  sim- 
ply wished  to  have  a  home  of  his  own — an  ark  of  refuge  to 
which  he  could  at  any  time  return — a  sheltered  spot  where 
some  portion  of  his  life  might  strike  root.  His  knowledge  of 
farming  was  next  to  nothing.  Yet  the  fields  could  not  be  al- 
lowed to  relapse  into  wilderness,  the  house  must  have  a  house- 
keeper, and  the  necessity  of  continuing  the  present  occupants 
in  their  respective  functions  was  too  apparent  to  be  discussed. 
For  the  present,  at  least,  Mrs.  Babb  and  Arbutus  were  indis- 
pensable adherents  of  the  property. 


A  STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  $9 

After  dinner,  Mr.  Hammond  paid  them  what  was  due  from 
the  estate.  Bute  turned  the  money  over  uneasily  in  his  hand, 
grew  red  in  the  face,  and  avoided  meeting  the  eye  of  the  new 
owner.  Mrs.  Babb  straightened  her  long  spine,  took  out  u 
buckskin  purse,  and,  having  put  the  money  therein,  began 
rubbing  the  steel  clasp  with  the  corner  of  her  apron.  Wood- 
bury,  then,  with  a  few  friendly  words,  expressed  his  pleasure 
at  having  found  them  in  charge  of  Lakeside,  and  his  desire 
that  each  should  continue  to  serve  him  in  the  same  capacity  as 
before. 

Mrs.  Babb  did  not  betray,  by  the  twitch  of  a  muscle,  the 
relief  she  felt.  On  the  contrary,  she  took  credit  to  herself  for 
accepting  her  good  fortune.  "  There's  them  that  would  like 
to  have  me,"  said  she.  "Mrs.  Dennison  never  bavin'  said 
nothin'  ag'in  my  housekeeping  but  the  reverse ;  and  I  a'n't 
bound  to  stay,  for  want  of  a  good  home  ;  but  somebody  must 
keep  house  for  ye,  and  I'd  hate  to  see  things  goin'  to  wrack, 
after  keerin'  for  'em,  a  matter  o'  twenty  year.  Well — I'll 
stay,  I  guess,  and  do  my  best,  as  I've  always  done  it." 

"  JEt  tu,  Bute  ?"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  whose  small  puns 
had  gained  him  a  reputation  for  wit,  in  Tiberius. 

Bute  understood  the  meaning,  not  the  words.  "I'm  glad 
Mr.  Max.  wants  me,"  he  answered,  eagerly.  "  I'd  hate  to  leave 
the  old  place,  though  I'm  able  to  get  my  livin'  most  anywheres. 
But  it'd  be  like  leavin'  home — and  jist  now,  with  that  two- 
year  old  colt  to  break,  and  a  couple  o'  steers  that  I'm  goin'  to 
yoke  in  the  spring — it  wouldn't  seem  natural,  like.  Mr.  Max. 
and  me  was  boys  together  here,  and  I  guess  we  can  hitch 
teams  without  kickin'  over  the  traces." 

After  arranging  for  an  inventory  and  appraisal  of  the  live 
stock,  farming  implements,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  furni- 
ture, which  Woodbury  decided  to  retain,  Mr.  Hammond  took 
his  departure.  Mrs.  Babb  prepared  her  tea  at  the  usual  early 
hour.  After  some  little  hesitation,  she  took  her  seat  at  the 
table,  but  evaded  participation  in  the  meal.  Mr.  Woodbury 
sat  much  longer  than  she  was  accustomed  to  see,  in  the  people 


40  HANNAH    THTJKSTON  I 

of  Ptolemy  :  he  sipped  his  tea  slowly,  and  actually  accepted  a 
fourth  cup.  Mrs.  Babb's  gratification  reached  its  height  when 
he  began  to  praise  her  preserved  quinces,  but  on  his  unthink- 
ingly declaring  them  to  be  "  better  than  ginger,"  her  grimness 
returned. 

"  Better  than  ginger  !  I  should  think  so  !"  was  her  mental 
exclamation. 

Throwing  himself  into  the  old  leather  arm-chair  before  the 
library  fire,  "Woodbury  enjoyed  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  No- 
vember evening.  The  wind  had  fallen,  and  the  light  of  a  half- 
moon  lay  upon  the  landscape.  The  vague  illumination,  the 
shadowy  outlines  of  the  distant  hills,  and  that  sense  of  isola- 
tion from  the  world  which  now  returned  upon  him,  gratefully 
brought  back  the  half-obliterated  moods  of  his  Indian  life.  He 
almost  expected  to  hear  the  soft  whish  of  the  punka  above  his 
head,  and  to  find,  suddenly,  the  "  hookah-burdar"  at  his 
elbow.  A  cheerful  hickory-fed  flame  replaced  the  one,  and  a 
ripe  Havana  cigar  the  other;  but  his  repose  was  not  des- 
tined to  be  left  undisturbed.  "  The  world"  is  not  so  easy  to 
escape.  Even  there,  in  Ptolemy,  it  existed,  and  two  of  its 
special  agents  (self-created)  already  knocked  at  the  door  of 
Lakeside. 

The  housekeeper  ushered  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue  and  the  Hon. 
Zeno  Harder  into  the  library.  The  latter,  as  Member  of  the 
Legislature,  considered  that  this  call  was  due,  as,  in  some  sort, 
an  official  welcome  to  his  district.  Besides,  his  next  aim  was 
the  State  Senate,  and  the  favor  of  a  new  resident,  whose 
wealth  would  give  him  influence,  could  not  be  secured  too 
soon.  Mr.  Bue,  as  the  host  of  the  previous  evening,  enjoyed 
an  advantage  over  the  agent  of  the  "  Etna,"  which  he  was  not 
slow  to  use.  His  politeness  was  composed  of  equal  parts  of 
curiosity  and  the  "  Saratoga  Mutual." 

"  We  thought,  Sir,"  said  the  Hon,  Zeno,  entering,  u  that 
your  first  evening  nere  might  be  a  little  lonesome,  and  you'd 
be  glad  to  have  company  for  an  hour  or  so." 

The  Member  was  a  coarse,   obese  man,  with  heavy  chaps, 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  41 

thick,  flat  lips,  small  eyes,  bald  crown,  and  a  voice  which  had 
been  made  harsh  and  aggressive  in  its  tone  by  much  vigorous 
oratory  in  the  open  air.  The  lines  of  his  figure  were  rounded, 
it  is  true,  but  it  was  the  lumpy  roundness  of  a  potato  rather 
than  the  swelling,  opulent  curves  of  well-padded  muscle 
Mr.  Hamilton  Bue,  in  contrast  to  him,  seemed  to  be  made  of 
angles.  His  face  and  hands  had  that  lean  dryness  which  sug- 
gests a  body  similarly  constructed,  a«d  makes  us  thankful  for 
the  invention  of  clothing.  He  was  a  prim,  precise  business 
man,  as  the  long  thin  nose  and  narrow  lips  indicated,  with  a 
trace  of  weakness  in  the  retreating  chin.  Neither  of  these 
gentlemen  possessed  a  particle  of  that  grapy  bloom  of  ripe 
manhood,  which  tells  of  generous  blood  in  either  cell  of  the 
double  heart.  In  one  the  juice  was  dried  up ;  in  the  other  it 
had  become  thick  and  slightly  rancid. 

They  were  not  the  visitors  whom  Woodbury  would  have 
chosen,  but  the  ostensible  purpose  of  their  call  demanded 
acknowledgment.  He  therefore  gave  them  a  cordial  welcome, 
and  drew  additional  chairs  in  front  of  the  fire.  The  Hon. 
Zeno,  taking  a  cigar,  elevated  his  feet  upon  the  lower  mould- 
ing of  the  wooden  mantel-piece,  spat  in  the  fire,  and  re- 
marked : 

"  You  find  Ptolemy  changed,  I  dare  say.  Let  me  see — 
when  were  you  here  last  ?  In  '32  ?  I  must  have  been  study- 
ing law  in  Tiberius  at  that  time.  Oh,  it's  scarcely  the  same 
place.  So  many  went  West  after  the  smash  in  '37,  and  new 
people  have  come  in — new  people  and  new  idees,  I  may 
say." 

"  We  have  certainly  shared  in  the  general  progression  of 
the  country,  even  during  my  residence  here,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton Bue,  carefully  assuming  his  official  style.  "Ten  years 
ago,  there  were  but  thirty-seven  names  on  the  books  of  the 
Saratoga  Mutual.  Now  we  count  a  hundred  and  thirteen. 
But  there  is  a  reason  for  it :  the  Company  pays  its  loss  punc- 
tually— most  punctually." 

Unconscious    of   this    dexterous    advertising,    Woodbury 


42  HANNAH  .THURSTON: 

answered  the  Hon.  Zeno :  "  Since  I  am  to  be,  for  a  while,  a 
member  of  your  community,  I  am  interested  in  learning  some- 
thing more  about  it.  What  are  the  new  ideas  you  mentioned, 
Mr.  Harder?" 

"  Well,  Sir, — I  can't  exactly  say  that  Hunkerism  is  a  new 
thing  in  politics.  I'm  a  Barnburner,  you  must  know,  and 
since  the  split  it  seems  like  new  parties,  though  we  hold  on  to 
the  old  principles.  Then  there's  the  Temperance  Reform — 
swep'  every  thing  before  it,  at  first,  but  slacking  off  just  now. 
The  Abolitionists,  it's  hardly  worth  while  to  count — there's  so 
few  of  them — but  they  make  a  mighty  noise.  Go  for  Non- 
Resistance,  Women's  Rights,  and  all  other  Isms.  So,  you  see, 
compared  to  the  old  times,  when  'twas  only  Whig  and  Demo- 
crat, the  deestrict  is  pretty  well  stirred  up." 

Mr.  Bue,  uncertain  as  to  the  views  of  his  host  upon  some  of 
the  subjects  mentioned,  and  keeping  a  sharp  eye  to  his  own 
interests,  here  remarked  in  a  mild,  placable  tone :  "  I  don't 
know  that  it  does  any  harm.  People  must  have  their  own 
opinions,  and  there's  no  law  to  hinder  it.  In  fact,  frequent 
discussion  is  a  means  of  intellectual  improvement." 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  discussing  what's  contrary  to  Scrip- 
tur'  and  Reason?"  cried  the  Hon.  Zeno,  in  his  out-door  voice. 
"  Our  party  is  for  Free  Soil,  and  you  can't  go  further  under 
the  Constitution, — so,  what's  the  use  in  talking?  Non- 
Resistance  might  be  Christian  enough,  if  all  men  was  saints ; 
but  we've  got  to  take  things  as  we  find  'em.  When  you're 
hit,  hit  back,  if  you  want  to  do  any  good  in  these  times.  As 
for  Women's  Rights,  it's  the  biggest  humbug  of  all.  A 
pretty  mess  we  should  be  in,  if  it  could  be  carried  out !  Think 
of  my  wife  taking  the  stump  against  Mrs.  Blackford,  and  me 
and  him  doing  the  washing  and  cooking  !" 

"  Who  was  the  Abolitionist — for  such  I  took  him  to  be — 
with  whom  you  were  talking,  last  evening,  at  Mr.  Bue's  ?" 
Woodbury  asked. 

"  Wattles — a  tailor  in  Ptolemy — one  of  the  worst  fanatics 
among  'em!"  the  irate  Zeno  replied.  "Believes  in, all  the 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  43 

Isms,  and  thinks  himself  a  great  Reformer.  It's  disgusting  to 
hear  a  man  talk  about  Women's  Rights,  as  he  does,  I  don't 
mind  it  so  much  in  Hannah  Thurston ;  but  the  fact  is,  she's 
more  of  a  man  than  the  most  of  'em." 

"  Hannah  Thurston !  Is  not  that  the  lady  who  sang — a 
pale,  earnest-looking  girl,  in  a  gray  dress  ?" 

"Idid'nt  notice  her  dress,"  the  Member  answered.  "She 
sings,  though — not  much  voice,  but  what  she  has  tells  amaz- 
ingly. Between  ourselves,  I'll  admit  that  she's  a  first-rate 
speaker — that  is,  for  a  woman.  I  was  tempted  to  have  a 
round  with  her,  at  the  last  meeting  they  held  ;  but  then,  you 
know,  a  woman  always  has  you  at  a  disadvantage.  You 
daren't  give  it  back  to  them  as  sharp  as  you  get  it." 

u  Do  you  really  mean  that  she  makes  public  harangues  ?" 
exclaimed  Woodbury,  who,  in  his  long  absence  from  home, 
had  lost  sight  of  many  new  developments  in  American 
society. 

"  Yes,  and  not  bad  ones,  either,  when  you  consider  the  sub- 
ject. Her  mother  used  to  preach  in  Quaker  Meetings,  so  it 
doesn't  seem  quite  so  strange  as  it  might.  Besides,  she  isn't 
married,  and  one  can  make  some  allowance.  But  when  Sarah 
Merryfield  gets  up  and  talks  of  the  tyranny  of  man,  it's  a 
little  too  much  for  me.  I'd  like  to  know,  now,  exactly  what 
her  meek  lout  of  a  husband  thinks  about  it." 

"  Is  'Mrs.  Waldo,  also,  an  advocate  of  the  new  doctrine?" 

"  She  ?  No  indeed.  She  has  her  rights  already  :  that  is, 
ail  that  a  woman  properly  knows  how  to  use.  Though  I  don't 
like  the  Cimmerian  doctrine — Mr.  Waldo  is  pastor  of  the 
Cimmerians — yet  I  think  she's  a  much  better  Christian  than 
the  Merry-fields,  who  still  hang  on  to  our  Church." 

"  What  are  the  Cimmerians  ?"  inquired  Woodbury.  "  Are 
they  so  called  from  the  darkness  of  their  doctrines  ?" 

The  Hon.  Zeno  did  not  understand  the  classical  allusion. 
"  They're  followers  of  the  Rev.  Beza  Cimmer,"  he  said.  "He 
was  first  a  Seceder,  I  believe,  but  differed  with  them  on  the 
doctrine  of  Grace.  Besides,  they  think  that  Baptism,  to  be 


44  HANNAH   THURS:rt>N: 

saving,  must  be  in  exact  imitation  of  that  of  the  Saviour. 
The  preacher  wears  a  hair  garment,  like  John  the  Baptist, 
when  he  performs  the  ceremony,  and  the  converts  long,  white 
robes.  They  pick  out  some  creek  for  their  Jordan,  and  do 
not  allow  outsiders  to  be  present.  They  don't  grow  in  num- 
bers, and  have  but  a  very  small  congregation  in  Ptolemy.  In 
fact,  Mr.  Waldo  is  considered  rather  shaky  by  some  of  the 
older  members,  who  were  converted  by  Cimmer  himself.  He 
don't  hold  very  close  communion." 

A  part  of  this  explanation  was  incomprehensible  to  Wood- 
bury,  who  was  not  yet  familiar  with  the  catch-words  which 
fall  so  glibly  from  the  mouths  of  country  theologians.  He 
detected  the  Member's  disposition  to  harangue  instead  of 
converse — a  tendency  which  could  only  be  prevented  by  a 
frequent  and  dexterous  change  of  subject.  "Your  church," 
he  said : — "  I  take  it  for  granted  you  refer  to  that  of  Mr. 
Styles, — seems  to  be  in  a  flourishing  condition." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue,  "  we  have  prospered 
under  his  ministry.  Some  have  backslidden,  it  is  true,  but  we 
have  had  encouraging  seasons  of  revival.  Our  ladies  are  now 
very  earnest  in  the  work  of  assisting  the  Jutnapore  Mission. 
Mrs.  Boerum  is  from  Syracuse,  and  a  particular  friend  of  Miss 
Eliza  Clancy.  I  think  Miss  Eliza  herself  would  have  gone 
if  she  had  been  called  in  time.  You  know  it  requires  a 
double  call." 

"A  double  call!  Excuse  me  if  I  do  not  quite  understand 
you,"  said  the  host. 

u  Why,  of  course,  they  must  first  be  called  to  the  work" 
and  then,  as  they  can't  go  alone  among  the  heathen,  they 
must  afterwards  depend  on  a  personal  call  from  some  un- 
married missionary.  Now  Miss  Clancy  is  rather  too  old 
for  that." 

Woodbury  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  this  na'ive  statement, 
although  it  was  made  with  entire  gravity.  "  I  have  seen  some- 
thing of  your  missions  in  India,"  he  at  last  remarked,  "  and 
believe  that  they  are  capable  of  accomplishing  much  good. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  45 

Still,  you  must  not  expect  immediate  returns.  It  is  only  the 
lowest  caste  that  is  now  reached,  and  the  Christianizing  of 
India  must  come,  eventually,  from  the  highest." 

Rather  than  discuss  a  subject  of  which  he  was  ignorant,  the 
Hon.  Zeno  started  a  new  topic.  "  By  the  way,  the  next  meet- 
ing of  the  Sewing  Union  will  be  at  Merryfield's.  Shall  you 
attend,  Mr.  Woodbury  ?" 

"  Yes.  They  are  among  the  few  persons  who  have  kept  me 
in  good  remembrance,  though  they,  too,  from  what  you  have 
said,  must  be  greatly  changed  since  I  used  to  play  with  their 
son  Absalom.  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  his  death." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  replied  the  Member,  biting  off  the  end  of  a 
fresh  cigar.'  "  Absalom  was  really  a  fine,  promising  fellow, 
but  they  spoiled  him  with  their  Isms.  They  were  Grahamites 
for  a  year  or  two — lived  on  bran  bread  and  turnips,  boiled 
wheat  and  dried  apples.  Absalom  took  up  that  and  the 
water-cure,  and  wanted  to  become  a  patent  first-class  reformer. 
Now,  Temperance  is  a  good  thing — though  I  can't  quite  go 
the  Maine  Law — but  wTater  inside  of  you  and  outside  of  you, 
summer-  and  winter  alike,  isn't  temperance,  according  to  my 
idee.  He  had  a  spell  of  pleurisy,  one  winter,  and  doctored 
himself  for  it.  His  lungs  were  broken  up,  after  that,  and  he 
went  off  the  very  next  fall.  They  set  a  great  deal  of  store 
by  him." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  such  delusions  are  held  by  intelligent 
persons  ?"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  shocked  as  well  as  sur- 
prised. "  I  hope  these  theories  are  not  included  in  the  gene- 
ral progress  of  which  Mr.  Bue  spoke.  But  I  have  almost  for- 
gotten my  duty  as  a  host.  The  nights  are  getting  cold,  gen- 
tlemen, and  perhaps  you  will  take  a  glass  of  wine."- 

The  Hon.  Zeno's  small  eyes  twinkled,  and  his  lips  twitched 
liquorously.  "  Well — I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Hamilton  Bue  was  silent,  and  slightly  embarrassed.  He 
had  found  it  necessary  to  join  the  Temperance  Society,  be- 
cause the  reform  was  a  popular  one.  He  always  went  with 
the  current  as  soon  as  it  became  too  strong  to  stem  con- 


46  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

veniently.  But  the  temptation  to  indulge  still  lurked  in  his 
thin  blood.  It  was  evident  that  the  Member,  for  his  own 
sake,  would  not  mention  the  circumstance,  and  Mr.  Wood- 
bury,  in  all  probability,  would  never  think  of  it  again. 

Some  of  Mrs.  Babb's  "Madary"  presently  twinkled  like 
smoky  topaz  in  the  light  of  the  wood-fire.  Mr.  Bue  at  first 
sipped  hesitatingly,  like  a  bather  dipping  his  toes,  with  a 
shudder,  into  the  waters  of  a  cold  river ;  but  having  once 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  glass — so  quickly,  indeed,  that  it 
excited  his  own  surprise — he  made  the  next  plunge  with  the 
boldness  of  a  man  accustomed  to  it. 

"  You  will  attend  church,  I  presume,  Mr.  Woodbury  ?" 
said  he.  "  Of  course  you  have  convictions/1" 

"  Certainly,"  Woodbury  answered,  without  a  clear  idea  of 
what  was  meant  by  the  word — "very  strong  ones." 

"  Of  course — it  could  not  be  otherwise.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  if  you  will  now  and  then  accept  a  seat  in  my  pew.  Mr. 
Styles  is  a  great  authority  on  Galatians,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  derive  spiritual  refreshment  from  his  sermons." 

Here  the  Hon.  Zeno  rose  and  commenced  buttoning  his 
coat,  as  a  signal  of  departure.  Growing  confidential  from  his 
inner  warmth,  he  placed  one  hand  affectionately  on  Wood- 
bury's  shoulder,  somewhat  to  the  latter"  s  disgust,  and  said: 
"  Now  you  are  one  of  us,  Woodbury,  you  must  take  an  active 
part  in  our  political  concerns.  Great  principles  are  at  stake, 
Sir,  and  the  country  has  need  of  men  like  you.  Let  me  warn 
you  against  the  Hunkers — their  game  is  nearly  played  out. 
I'll  be  most  happy,  Sir,  to  explain  to  you  the  condition  of 
parties.  Youll  find  me  well  posted  up." 

Mr.  Bue  took  occasion  to  make  a  parting  hint  in  the  interest 
of  the  Saratoga  Mutual.  "  If  you  wish  to  have  your  house  in- 
sured, Mr.  Woodbury,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  send  you 
our  pamphlets.  The  Company  is  so  well  known,  fortunately, 
that  its  name  is  a  sufficient  recommendation." 

The  owner  of  Lakeside  stood  on  the  verandah,  watching 
his  guests  drive  down  the  maple  avenue.  As  the  sound  of 


A   STOBY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  4? 

their  wheels  sank  below  the  brow  of 'the  hill,  the  muffled 
voice  of  Roaring  Brook  came  softly  to  him,  across  the  dark 
meadows.  A  part  of  Atauga  Lake  threw  back  the  light  of 
the  descending  moon.  "  Here,"  thought  he,  "  is  the  com- 
mencement of  a  new  existence.  It  is  not  the  old,  boyish  life 
of  which  I  dreamed,  but  something  very  different.  I  foresee 
that  I  shall  have  to  accustom  myself  to  many  features  of  this 
society,  which  are  not  attractive — some  of  them  even  repug- 
nant— and  perhaps  the  only  counterbalancing  delight  left  to 
me  will  be  the  enjoyment  of  this  lovely  scenery,  the  peace  of 
this  secluded  life.  Will  that  be  sufficient  ?  Or  will  these 
oaks  and  pines  at  last  pall  upon  my  eye,  like  the  palms  and 
banyans  of  the  East  ?  No :  one  cannot  be  satisfied  with  ex- 
ternal resources.  I  must  study,  with  a  liberal  human  interest, 
the  characteristics  of  this  little  community,  however  strange 
or  repellant  they  may  seem ;  and  certainly,  after  making 
friends  among  the  fossilized  Brahmins,  there  must  be  a  few 
among  my  fellow-Christians  and  fellow-countrymen,  whom  I 
can  heartily  respect  and  love.  Those  long  Indian  years  must 
be  placed  in  a  closed  Past,  and  I  must  adapt  myself  to  habits 
and  associations,  which  have  become  more  foreign  than 
familiar  to  me." 


HANNAH  THUESTON; 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AN  INTERVIEW   ON  THE   ROAD,    AND   A   NEW   HOUSEHOLD. 

THE  Indian  Summer  still  held  its  ground,  keeping  back  the 
winter's  vanguard  of  frost  and  keen  nor'westers.  Day  by 
day  the  smoky  air  became  more  densely  blue  and  still,  and 
the  leaves,  long  since  dead,  hung  upon  the  trees  for  want  of  a 
loosening  wind.  The  hickory-nuts  fell  by  their  own  weight, 
pattering  here  and  there  in  the  woods,  in  single  smart  raps, 
find  giving  out  a  vigorous  balsamic  odor,  as  their  cleft  rinds 
burst  open.  Only  at  night  a  gathering  chill  and  a  low  moan- 
ing in  the  air  gave  the  presage  of  an  approaching  change  in 
the  season. 

On  one  of  those  warm  forenoons  which  almost  reproduce 
the  languor  and  physical  yearning  of  the  opening  Spring, 
Bute  Wilson,  mounted  on  Dick,  the  old  farm-horse,  jogged 
slowly  along  the  road  to  Ptolemy,  whistling  "The  Rose  that 
All  are  Praising,"  a  melody  which  he  had  learned  at  the 
singing-school.  Bute  was  bound  for  the  village,  on  a  variety 
of  errands,  and  carried  a  basket  on  his  arm.  Dick's  delibe- 
rate gait  seemed  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  current  of  his 
thoughts.  The  horse  understood  his  rider,  and  knew  very 
well  when  to  take  his  ease,  and  when  to  summon  up  the  little 
life  left  in  his  stiff  old  legs.  Horses  are  better  interpreters  of 
one's  moods  than  the  most  of  one's  human  friends. 

Bute  was  a  very  good  specimen  of  the  American  country- 
man. A  little  over  the  average  height,  and  compacted  of 
coarse,  hardy  fibre,  he  possessed,  in  spite  of  the  common 
stock  from  which  he  had  sprung,  the  air  of  independent  self- 
respect  which  a  laboring  man  can  only  acquire  in  a  commu- 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  49 

nity  where  caste  is  practically  ignored.  His  independence, 
however,  had  not  degenerated  into  impudence :  he  knew  his 
deficiencies  of  nature  and  education,  and  did  not  attempt  to 
off-set  them  by  a  vulgar  assertion  of  equality.  He  could  sit 
at  Mr.  Woodbury's  table  (using  the  knife  a  little  too  freely) 
without  embarrassment,  and  could  take  his  dinner  in  the 
kitchen  without  being  conscious  of  degradation.  His  horses, 
cattle,  and  crops  occupied  the  first 'place  in  his  mind — him- 
self— no,  another  person  had  the  second  place — and  his  own 
personality  gave  him  the  least  trouble.  He  was  a  general 
favorite  in  the  neighborhood,  and  his  position  was,  perhaps, 
more  fortunate  than  he  knew,  though  the  knowledge  of  it 
would  not  have  made  him  happier  than  he  was.  He  was  hon- 
estly respected  by  those  below,  and  not  looked  down  upon  by 
those  above  him.  This  consideration  was  won  by  his  thorough 
frankness,  simplicity,  and  kindness  of  heart.  His  face  was  too 
broad  and  his  nose  too  thick,  to  be  called  handsome ;  but 
there  were  fewer  eyes  into  which  men  looked  with  more  satis- 
faction than  the  pair  of  large  blue-gray  ones,  divided  by  the 
nose  aforesaid.  His  forehead  was  rather  low,  but  open  and 
smooth,  and  his  yellow  hair,  curling  a  little  at  the  ends,  grew 
back  from  the  temples  with  a  sturdy  set,  as  if  determined  that 
they  should  not  be  hidden.  Add  to  these  traits  a  voice  mel- 
low in  spite  of  its  volume — the  cattle  understood  its  every  in- 
flection— and  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  Bute  was  in  especial 
favor  with  the  opposite  sex.  From  head  to  foot,  Nature  had 
written  upon  him :  This  man  is  a  male. 

Bute  had  climbed  the  rise  beyond  Roaring  Brook,  when  his 
reveries,  whatever  they  might  have  been,  were  interrupted  by 
the  sight  of  a  woman,  walking  towards  Ptolemy,  a  short  dis- 
tance in  advance  of  him.  Although  no  other  person  was  near, 
to  play  the  spy,  he  felt  the  blood  creeping  up  to  his  ears,  as 
he  looked  keenly  and  questioning!  y  at  the  little  figure,  in  its 
dark-blue  merino  dress,  tripping  forward  with  short,  quick 
steps.  Dick  noticed  the  change  in  his  master,  and  broke  into 
a  trot  down  the  gentle  slope.  At  the  sound  of  hoofs,  the  figure 
3 


50  HANNAH    THUESTON  : 

turned,  disclosing  a  bunch  of  brown  ringlets  and  a  saucy  little 
nose,  then  drew  to  one  side  of  the  road  and  stopped. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Carrie !"  cried  Bute,  as  he  drew  rein, 
on  approaching  :  "  I  thought  it  was  you.  Goin'  to  Ptolemy  ? 
So  am  I.  Git  up  on  the  bank,  and  I'll  take  ye  on  behind  me. 
Dick'll  carry  double — he's  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  Here,  I'll  jerk 
off  my  coat  for  you  to  set  on."  And  he  had  his  right  arm  out 
of  the  sleeve  before  he  had  finished  speaking. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  lady,  affecting  a  mild  stream;  "No,  in- 
deed, Mr.  Wilson  !  I  am  so  afraid  of  horses.  Besides,  I  don't 
think  it  would  look  right." 

It  suddenly  occurred  to  Bute's  mind,  that,  in  order  to  ride 
as  he  had  proposed,  she  would  be  obliged  to  clasp  him  with 
both  arms.  Heaving  a  sigh  of  regret,  he  drew  on  his  coat  and 
jumped  off  the  horse. 

"Well,  if  you  won't  ride  with  me,  I'll  walk  with  you,  any 
how.  How's  your  health,  Miss  Carrie  ?"  offering  his  hand. 

"  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Wilson.  How's  Mrs.  Babb  ? 
And  I  hear  that  Mr.  Woodbury  has  come  to  live  with  you." 

Miss  Caroline  Dil worth  was  too  well  satisfied  at  meeting  with 
Bute,  to  decline  his  proffered  company.  She  was  on  her  way 
from  the  house  of  a  neighboring  farmer,  where  she  had  been 
spending  a  fortnight  as  seamstress,  to  the  cottage  of  the  widow 
Thnrston,  who  lived  on  the  edge  of  the  village.  The  old 
lady's  health  was  declining,  and  Miss  Dil  worth  occasionally 
rendered  a  friendly  assistance  to  the  daughter.  They  were 
both  always  glad  to  see  the  lively,  chattering  creature,  in  spite 
of  her  manifold  weaknesses  and  affectations.  She  was  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  at  least,  but  assumed  all  the  timidity  and  in- 
experience of  a  girl  of  sixteen,  always  wearing  her  hair  in  a 
mesh  of  natural  ringlets  which  hung  about  her  neck,  and  talk- 
ing with  a  soft  childish  drawl,  unless — which  rarely  happen- 
ed— she  was  so  very  much  in  earnest  as  to  forget  herself.  Her 
nose  was  piquantly  retrousse,  her  mouth  small  and  cherry-red, 
and  her  complexion  fair  (for  she  took  great  care  of  it) ;  but 
her  eyes  inclined  to  pale-green  rather  than  blue,  and  she  had 


A   STOltr    OF   AMERICAN  UEE.  61 

an  affected  habit  of  dropping  the  lids.  Perhaps  this  was  to 
conceal  the  unpleasant  redness  of  their  edges,  for  they  were 
oftentimes  so  inflamed  as  to  oblige  her  to  suspend  her  occupa- 
tion. Her  ambition  was,  to  become  a  teacher — a  post  for 
which  she  was  not  at  all  qualified.  Hannah  Thurston,  how- 
ever, had  kindly  offered  to  assist  her  in  preparing  herself  for 
the  coveted  career. 

What  it  was  that  attracted  Bute  Wilson  to  Miss  Dil worth, 
he  was  unable  to  tell.  Had  the  case  been  reversed,  we  should 
not  wonder  at  it.  Only  this  much  was  certain ;  her  society 
was  a  torment  to  him,  her  absence  a  pain.  He  would  have  cut 
off  his  little  finger  for  the  privilege  of  just  once  lifting  her  in 
his  strong  arms,  and  planting  a  kiss  square  upon  the  provok- 
ing mouth,  which,  as  if  conscious  of  its  surplus  of  sweetness, 
could  say  so  many  bitter  things  to  him.  Bute  had  never 
spoken  to  her  of  the  feeling  which  she  inspired  in  him.  Why 
should  he?  She  knew  just  how  he  felt,  and  he  knew  that  she 
knew  it.  She  played  with  him  as  he  had  many  a  time  played 
with  a  big  trout  at  the  end  of  his  line.  Over  and  over  again 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  giving  her  up,  out  of  sheer  worri- 
ment  and  exhaustion  of  soul,  when  a  sudden  look  from  those 
downcast  eyes,  a  soft  word,  half  whispered  in  a  voice  whose 
deliberate  sweetness  tingled  through  him,  from  heart  to  finger- 
ends,  bound  him  faster  than  ever.  Miss  Dilworth  little  sus- 
pected Low  many  rocks  she  had  sledged  to  pieces,  how  many 
extra  swaths  she  had  mowed  in  June,  and  shocks  of  corn  she 
had  husked  in  October,  through  Bute  Wilson's  arm.  If  Mr. 
Woodbury  were  a  cunning  employer,  he  would  take  measures 
to  prolong  this  condition  of  suspense. 

On  the  present  occasion,  the  affected  little  minx  was  un- 
usually gracious  towards  her  victim.  She  had  a  keen  curiosity 
to  gratify.  "  Now,  Bute,"  said  she,  as  they  started  together 
towards  Ptolemy,  Bute  leading  Dick  by  the  bridle  ;  "  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  all  about  this  Mr.  Woodbury.  W'hat  kind  of  a 
man  is  he  ?" 

"  He's  only  been  with  us  three  or  four  days.     To  be  sure,  I 


52  HANNAH    TllURSTON  : 

knowed  him  as  a  boy,  but  that's  long  ago,  and  I  may  have  to 
learn  him  over  ag'in.  It  won't  be  a  hard  thing  to  do,  though : 
he's  a  gentleman,  if  there  ever  was  one.  He's  a  man  that'll 
always  do  what's  right,  if  he  knows  how." 

"I  mean,  Bute,  how  he  looks.  Tall  or  short?  Is  he  hand- 
some ?  Isn't  he  burnt  very  black,  or  is  it  worn  off?" 

"Not  so  many  questions  at  once,  Miss  Carrie.  He  a'n't 
blacker  'n  I'd  be  now,  if  I  was  complected  like  him.  Tall,  you 
might  call  him — nigh  two  inches  more'n  I  am,  and  a  reg'lar 
pictur'  of  a  man,  though  a  bit  thinner  than  he'd  ought  to  be. 
But  I  dunno  whether  you'd  call  him  handsome :  women  has 
sich  queer  notions.  Now,  there's  that  Seth  Wattles,  that  you 
think  sich  a  beauty — " 

"  Bute  Wilson !  You  know  I  don't  think  any  such  thing ! 
It's  Seth's  mind  that  I  admire.  There's  such  a  thing  as  moral 
and  intellectual  beauty,  but  that  you  don't  understand." 

"  No,  hang  it ! — nor  don't  want  to,  if  Ae's  got  it !  I  believe 
in  a  man's  doin'  what  he  purtends  to  do — keepin'  his  mind  on 
his  work,  whatever  it  is.  If  Seth  Wattles  lays  out  to  be  a 
tailor,  let  him  be  one :  if  he  wants  to  be  a  moral  and  intel- 
lectual beauty,  he  may  try  that,  for  all  I  keer — but  he  can't  do 
both  to  once't.  I  wish  he'd  make  better  trowsus,  or  give  up 
his  business." 

Miss  Dilworth  knew  her  own  weakness,  and  carefully  avoid- 
ed entering  into  a  discussion.  She  was  vexed  that  one  of  the 
phrases  she  had  caught  from  Hannah  Thurston,  and  which  she 
had  frequently  used  with  much  effect,  had  rattled  harmlessly 
against  the  hard  mail  of  Bute's  common  sense.  At  another 
time  she  would  have  taken — or  have  seemed  to  take — offence, 
at  his  rough  speech ;  but  she  had  not  yet  heard  enough  of  Mr. 
Woodbury. 

"Well,  never  mind  Seth,"  she  said,  "  you've  not  finished  tell- 
ing me  about  your  new  master" 

If  she  had  intended  to  prick  Bute  with  this  word,  she  utterly 
failed.  He  quietly  resumed  the  description :  "  Every  man 
that  I  like  is  handsome  to  me ;  but  I  think  any  woman  would 


A    STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  53 

admire  to  see  Mr,  Max.  He's  got  big  brown  eyes,  like  them 
o'  the  doe  Master  Harry  used  to  have,  and  a  straight  nose,  like 
one  o'  the  plaster  heads  in  the  libery.  He  wears  a  beard  on 
his  upper  lip,  but  no  whiskers,  and  his  hair  is  brown,  and  sort 
o'  cuiiin'.  He's  a  man  that  knows  what  he's  about,  and  can 
make  up  his  mind  in  five  minutes,  and  looks  you  straight  in 
the  face  when  he  talks ;  and  if  he'd  a  hard  thing  to  say  (though 
he's  said  nothin'  o'  the  kind  to  me),  h'e'd  say  it  without  flinchin', 
a  little  worse  to  your  face  than  what  he'd  say  behind  y'r  back. 
But  what  I  like  best  in  him,  is,  that  he  knows  how  to  mind  his 
own  business,  without  botherin'  himself  about  other  folks's. 
You  wouldn't  ketch  him,  a  pitchin'  into  me  because  I  chaw 
tobacco,  like  Seth  Wattles  did,  with  all  his  moral  and  intellec- 
tual beauty." 

"  Oh,  but,  Bute,  you  know  it's  so  unhealthy.  I  do  wish 
you'd  give  it  up." 

"  Unhealthy  !  Stuff  and  nonsense — look  at  me  !"  And,  in- 
deed Bute,  stopping,  straightening  himself,  throwing  out  his 
breast,  and  striking  it  with  a  hard  fist  until  it  rang  like  a  muf- 
fled drum,  presented  a  picture  of  lusty,  virile  strength,  which 
few  men  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ptolemy  could  have  matched. 
"  Unhealthy !"  he  continued ;  "  I  s'pose  you'd  call  Seth 
healthy,  with  his  tallow  f&ce,  and  breast-bone  caved  in.  Why, 
the  woman  that  marries  him  can  use  his  ribs  for  a  wash-board, 
when  she's  lost  her'n.  Then  there  was  Absalom  Merryfield, 
you  know,  killed  himself  out  and  out,  he  was  so  keerful  o'  his 
health.  I'd  ruther  have  no  health  at  all,  a  darned  sight,  than 
worry  my  life  out,  thinkin'  on  it.  Not  that  I  could'nt  give 
up  chawin'  tobacco,  or  any  thing  else,  if  there  was  a  good 
reason  for  it.  What  is  it  to  you,  Carrie,  whether  I  chaw  or 
not  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  very  well  understood  Bute's  meaning,  but 
let  it  go  without  notice,  as  he  knew  she  would.  The  truth  is, 
she  was  not  insensible  to  his  many  good  qualities,  but  she  was 
ambitious  of  higher  game.  She  had  not  attended  all  the  meet- 
ings held  in  Ptolemy,  in  favor  of  Temperance,  Anti-Slavery 


54  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

and  "Women's  Rights,  without  imbibing  as  much  conceit  as 
the  basis  of  her  small  mind  could  support.  The  expressions 
which,  from  frequent  repetition,  she  had  caught  and  retained, 
were  put  to  such  constant  use,  that  she  at  last  fancied  them 
half  original,  and  sighed  for  a  more  important  sphere  than 
that  of  a  sempstress,  or  even  a  teacher.  She  knew  she  could 
never  become  a  speaker — she  was  sure  of  that — but  might  she 
not  be  selected  by  some  orator  of  Reform,  as  a  kindred  soul, 
to  support  him  with  her  sympathy  and  appreciation  ?  Thus 
far,  however,  her  drooping  lids  had  been  lifted  and  her  curls 
elaborately  tangled,  in  vain.  The  eloquent  disciples,  not 
understanding  these  mute  appeals,  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 

She  drew  the  conversation  back  to  Mr.  Woodbury,  and 
kept  it  to  that  theme  until  she  had  ascertained  all  that  Bute 
knew,  or  was  willing  to  tell ;  for  the  latter  had  such  a  strong 
sense  of  propriety  about  matters  of  this  kind,  as  might  have 
inspired  doubts  of  his  being  a  native-born  American.  By  this 
time  they  had  reached  the  bridge  over  East  Atauga  Creek, 
whence  it  was  but  a  short  distance  to  the  village. 

"  There  is  Friend  Thurston's  cottage,  at  last,"  said  Miss 
Dilworth.  "  Have  you  seen  Miss  Hannah  lately  ?  But,  of 
course,  she  can't  visit  Lakeside  now." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it,"  Bute  remarked.  "  She's  a  fine  woman, 
in  spite  of  her  notions.  But  why  can't  she  ?" 

"  It  would  not  be  proper." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  proper  for  a  man  to  visit  us  ?" 

"  To  be  sure.     How  queer  you  talk,  Bute  !" 

"  Well — she  says  a  \voman  should  be  allowed  to  do  what- 
ever a  man  does.  If  Women's  Rights  is  worth  talkin'  about, 
it's  worth  carryin'  out.  But  I  guess  Miss  Hannah's  more  of  a 
woman  than  she  knows  on.  I  like  to  hear  her  talk,  mighty 
well,  and  she  says  a  good  many  things  that  I  can't  answer, 
but  they're  ag'in  nature,  for  all  that.  If  she  was  married  and 
had  a  family  growin'  up  'round  her,  she  wouldn't  want  to  be  a 
lawyer  or  a  preacher.  Here  we  are,  at  the  gate.  Good-by, 
Miss  Carrie !" 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  55 

"  Good-by,  Bute !"  said  Miss  Dilworth,  mechanically, 
pausing  at  the  gate  to  see  him  spring  into  the  saddle  and  trot 
rapidly  down  the  street.  She  was  confounded,  and  a  little 
angry,  at  the  nonchalance  with  which  he  treated  her  oracle. 
"  I  wish  it  had  been  Hannah  Thurston,  instead  of  me,"  she 
said  to  herself,  with  a  spiteful  toss  of  her  head — "  she  has 
an  answer  ready  for  everybody." 

The  plot  of  ground  in  front  of -the  cottage  already  wore 
its  winter  livery.  The  roses  were  converted  into  little  obe- 
lisks of  straw,  the  flower-beds  were  warmly  covered,  and  only 
the  clumps  of  arbor-vitas  and  the  solitary  balsam-fir  were  al- 
lowed to  display  their  hardy  green.  Miss  Dilworth  passed 
around  the  house  to  the  kitchen  entrance,  for  she  knew  the 
fondness  of  the  inmates  for  warmth  and  sunshine,  and  the 
sitting-room  which  they  habitually  occupied  looked  south- 
ward, over  the  vegetable  garden,  to  the  meadows  of  the  east- 
ern valley.  Every  thing  was  scrupulously  neat  and  ordered. 
The  tops  of  vegetables  left  for  seed  and  the  dead  stalks  of 
summer  flowers  had  been  carefully  removed  from  the  garden. 
The  walks  had  been  swept  by  a  broom,  and  the  wood-shed, 
elsewhere  more  or  less  chaotic  in  its  appearance,  was  here 
visited  by  the  same  implement.  Its  scattered  chips  seemed 
to  have  arranged  themselves  into  harmonious  forms,  like  the 
atoms  of  sand  under  the  influence  of  musical  tones. 

In  the  kitchen  a  girl  of  thirteen — the  only  servant  the 
house  afforded — was  watching  the  kettles  and  pans  on  the 
cooking-stove.  This  operation  might  have  been  carried  on  in 
the  parlor  just  as  well,  so  little  appearance  was  there  of  the 
usual  "  slops"  and  litter  of  a  kitchen.  This  was  Friend 
Thurston's  specialty  as  a  housekeeper — her  maxim  was,  that 
there  should  be  no  part  of  a  house  where  a  visitor  might  not 
be  received.  Her  neighbors  always  spoke  of  her  kitchen  with 
an  admiration  wherein  there  was  a  slight  mixture  of  despair. 

The  sitting-room,  beyond,  was  made  cheerful  by  windows 
opening  to  the  south  and  east ;  but  more  so  by  the  homely 
simplicity  and  comfort  of  its  arrangement.  Every  object 


56  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  I 

spoke  of  limited  means,  but  nothing  of  pinched  self-denial. 
The  motley-colored  rag  carpet  was  clean,  thick,  and  warm ; 
the  chintz  sofa  was  relieved  by  inviting  cushions  ;  the  old- 
fashioned  rocking-chair  was  so  stuffed  and  padded  as  to  remedy 
its  stiffness;  the  windows  were  curtained,  and  a  few  brands  were 
smouldering  among  white  ashes  in  the  grate.  A  shelf  inside 
the  southern  window  held  some  tea-roses  in  pots,  mignionette, 
heliotrope,  and  scarlet  verbenas.  There  were  but  three  pictures — 
a  head  of  Milton,  an  old  wood-engraving  of  the  cottage  where 
George  Fox  was  born,  and  a  tolerable  copy  of  the  Madonna 
della  Seggiola.  On  a  stand  in  the  corner  were  the  favorite 
volumes  of  the  old  lady,  very  plainly  bound,  as  was  meet,  in 
calf  of  a  drab  color — Job  Scott's  Works,  Woolman's  Journal, 
and  William  Penn's  "  No  Cross,  No  Crown."  A  swinging 
book-shelf,  suspended  on  the  wall,  contained  a  different  collec- 
tion, which  evidently  belonged  to  the  daughter.  Several 
volumes  of  Carlyle,  Margaret  Fuller,  Shelley,  Bettina  von 
Arnim,  De  StaeTs  "  Corinne,"  the  "  Record  of  Woman," 
Milton,  George  Sands'  "  Consuelo,"  Mrs.  Child's  "Letters 
from  New  York,"  Hugh  Miller,  and  bound  numbers  of  the 
"  Liberty  Bell,"  were  among  them.  Had  a  certain  drawer 
been  opened,  one  would  have  found  files  of  The  /Slavery  An- 
nihilator,  Mrs.  Swisshelm's  Saturday  Visitor,  and  the  weekly 
edition  of  the  New-York  Tribune.  A  rude  vase  of  birch 
bark,  on  a  bracket,  was  filled  with  a  mass  of  flowering  grasses, 
exquisitely  arranged  with  regard  to  their  forms  and  colors, 
from  pale  green  and  golden-gray  to  the  loveliest  browns  and 
purples.  This  object  was  a  work  of  art,  in  its  way,  and  shed 
a  gleam  of  beauty  over  the  plainness  of  the  apartment. 

Friend  Gulielma  Thurston,  leaning  back  in  the  rocking-chair, 
had  suffered  her  hands,  with  the  knitting  they  held,  to  sink 
into  her  lap,  and  looked  out  upon  the  hazy  valley.  Her  thin 
face,  framed  in  the  close  Quaker  cap,  which  barely  allowed  her 
gray  hair  to  appear  at  the  temples,  wore  a  sweet,  placid  ex- 
pression, though  the  sunken  eyes  and  set  lips  told  of  physical 
suffering.  The  spotless  book-muslin  handkerchief,  many-folded, 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  57 

covered  her  neck  and  breast,  and  a  worsted  apron  was  tied 
over  her  drab  gown,  rather  from  habit  than  use.  As  she  bask- 
ed in  the  balmy  warmth  of  the  day,  her  wasted  fingers  uncon- 
sciously clasped  themselves  in  a  manner  that  expressed  patience 
and  trust.  These  were  the  prominent  qualities  of  her  nature — • 
the  secret  of  her  cheerfulness  and  the  source  of  her  courage. 

Late  married,  she  had.lost  her  first  child,  and  shortly  after 
the  birth  of  her  daughter  Hannah,  h'er  husband  also.  The  lat- 
ter was  a  stern,  silent  man,  rigid  in  creed  and  in  discipline,  but 
with  a  concealed  capacity  for  passion  which  she  had  not  under- 
stood while  she  possessed  him.  Her  mind  first  matured  in 
the  sorrow  of  his  loss,  and  she  became,  from  that  natural 
need  which  is  content  with  no  narrower  comfort,  a  speaker  in 
the  meetings  of  her  sect.  The  property  she  inherited  at  her 
husband's  death  was  very  small,  and  she  was  obliged  to  labor 
beyond  her  strength,  until  the  bequest  of  an  unmarried  brother 
relieved  her  from  pressing  want.  Hannah,  to  whom  she  had 
managed  to  give  a  tolerably  thorough  education,  obtained  a 
situation  as  teacher,  for  which  she  proved  so  competent  that 
a  liberal  offer  from  the  Trustees  of  the  Young  Ladies'  Semi- 
nary at  Ptolemy  induced  both  mother  and  daughter  to  remove 
thither.  Her  earnings,  added  to  the  carpfully  husbanded  pro- 
perty, finally  became  sufficient  to  insure  them  a  modest  sup- 
port, so  that,  when  her  mother's  failing  health  obliged  Hannah 
to  give  up  her  place,  there  was  no  serious  anxiety  for  the 
future  to  interfere  with  her  filial  duty. 

The  daughter  was  seated  at  the  eastern  window,  beside  a 
small  table,  which  was  covered  with  gorgeously  tinted  autumn 
leaves.  She  was  occupied  in  arranging  them  in  wreaths  and 
groups,  on  sheets  of  card-board,  which  were  designed  to  form 
an  album,  and  to  wear,  as  binding,  the  embroidery  of  fern- 
leaves,  upon  which  we  first  found  her  engaged.  Such  an 
album,  contributed  by  her  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Fair,  the  previ 
ous  year,  had  enriched  the  treasury  of  the  Society  by  the  sum 
of  ten  dollars,  and  the  managers  had  begged  a  second  donation 
of  the  same  kind. 
3* 


58  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

Catching  a  glimpse  of  Miss  Dilworth  through  the  window, 
she  rose  to  receive  her.  In  stature,  she  was  somewhat  above 
the  average  height  of  women,  though  not  noticeably  tall,  and 
a  little  too  slender  for  beauty.  Her  hands  were  thin,  but 
finely  formed,  and  she  carried  them  as  if  they  were,  a  conscious 
portion  of  herself,  not  an  awkward  attachment.  Her  face 
would  have  been  a  perfect  oval,  except  that  the  forehead,  in- 
stead of  being  low  and  softly  rounded,  was  rather  squarely 
developed  in  the  reflective  region,  and  the  cheeks,  though  not 
thin,  lacked  the  proper  fulness  of  outline.  Her  hair  was  of  a  rich, 
dark-brown,  black  in  shadow,  and  the  delicate  arches  of  the 
eye-brows  were  drawn  with  a  clear,  even  pencil,  above  the 
earnest  gray  eyes,  dark  and  deep  under  the  shadow  of  their 
long  lashes.  The  nose  was  faultless,  and  the  lips,  although  no 
longer  wearing  their  maidenly  ripeness  and  bloom,  were  so 
pure  in  outline,  so  sweetly  firm  in  their  closing  junction,  so 
lovely  in  their  varying  play  of  expression,  that  the  life  of  her 
face  seemed  to  dwell  in  them  alone.  Her  smile  had  a  rare 
benignity  and  beauty.  The  paleness  of  her  face,  being,  to 
some  extent,  a  feature  of  her  physical  temperament,  did  not 
convey  the  impression  of  impaired  health :  a  ruddy  tint  would 
not  have  harmonized  with  the  spiritual  and  sensitive  character 
of  her  countenance.  ISTo  one  would  have  dreamed  of  calling 
Hannah  Thurston  a  beauty.  In  society  nine  men  would  have 
passed  her  without  a  thought ;  but  the  tenth  would  have  stood 
still,  and  said :  "  Here  is  a  woman  '  to  sit  at  a  king's  right 
hand,  in  thunder-storms,' "  and  would  have  carried  her  face  in 
his  memory  forever. 

The  severest  test  of  a  woman  is  to  play  an  exceptional  part 
in  the  world.  Her  respect,  her  dignity,  her  virtue  itself,  be- 
come doubtful,  if  not  mythical,  in  the  eyes  of  men.  In  the 
small  circle  of  Ptolemy,  Hannah  Thurston  had  subjected  her- 
self to  this  test,  and  it  was  no  slight  triumph  for  her,  had  she 
known  it,  that,  while  her  views  were  received  with  either  hor- 
ror or  contempt,  while  the  names  of  her  fellow  priestesses  or 
prophetesses  were  bandied  about  in  utter  disrespect,  she  was 


A   STORY    OF   AMEKICAJST   LIFE.  59 

f 

never  personally  ridiculed.  No  tongue  dared  to  whisper  an 
insinuation  against  either  her  sincerity  or  her  purity.  This, 
however,  was  partly  owing  to  the  circumstances  of  her  life  in 
the  place.  She  had  first  achieved  popularity  as  a  teacher,  and 
honor  as  a  daughter.  Among  other  things,  it  was  generally  re- 
ported and  believed  that  she  had  declined  an  offer  of  marriage, 
advantageous  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  and  the  act  was  set 
down  to  her  credit  as  wholly  one  o£  duty  towards  her  mother. 

In  her  plain  brown  dress,  with  linen  collar  and  cuffs,  the 
only  ornament  being  a  knot  of  blue  ribbon  at  the  throat,  she 
also,  appeared  to  be  a  Quakeress ;  yet,  she  had  long  since  per- 
ceived that  the  external  forms  of  the  sect  had  become  obsolete, 
and  no  longer  considered  herself  bound  by  them.  Some  con- 
cession in  dress,  however,  was  still  due  for  her  mother's  sake, 
beyond  whose  rapidly  shortening  span  of  life  she  could  see  no 
aim  in  her  own,  unless  it  were  devoted  to  righting  the  wrongs 
of  her  sex.  She  had  had  her  girlish  dreams ;  but  the  next 
birthday  was  her  thirtieth,  and  she  had  already  crossed,  in  re- 
solve, that  deep  gulf  in  a  woman's  life. 

Miss  Caroline  Dil worth,  in  her  blue  dress,  came  as  if  dipped 
in  the  Indian  Summer,  with  a  beryl  gleam  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
darted  into  the  sitting-room.  She  caught  Hannah  Thurston 
around  the  waist,  and  kissed  her  twice :  she  was  never  known 
to  greet  her  female  friends  with  less.  Then,  leaning  gently 
over  the  rocking-chair,  she  took  the  old  woman's  hand. 

"  Take  off  thy  bonnet,  child,"  said  the  latter,  "  and  push 
thy  hair  back,  so  that  I  can  see  thy  face.  I'm  glad  thee's 
come." 

"  Oh,  Friend  Thurston,  I  was  so  afraid  I  couldn't  get  away 
from  Parkman's.  It's  a  lonely  place,  you  know,  over  the.  hill, 
and  she's  hard  of  hearing.  Ah  !  I'm  out  of  breath,  yet" — and 
therewith  heaving  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  little  creature  threw  off 
her  shawl  and  untied  the  strings  of  her  bonnet.  N 

Their  life  had  so  much  in  it  that  was  grave  and  earnest — 
their  conversation  naturally  turning  to  the  past  rather  than 
the  future — that  the  Thurstons  always  felt  themselves  cheered 


60  HANNAH   THURSTON  I 

by  Miss  Dilworth's  visits.  She  dropped  her  affectations  in 
their  presence,  and  became,  for  the  time,  a  light-hearted,  ami- 
able, silly  woman.  She  never  arrived  without  a  fresh  budget 
of  gossip,  generally  of  slight  importance,  but  made  piquant  by 
her  rattling  way  of  telling  it. 

"  How  thee  does  run  on !"  Friend  Thurston  would  some- 
times say,  whereupon  the  sempstress  would  only  toss  her  curls 
and  run  on  all  the  more  inveterately. 

"  Oh,  I  must  tell  you  all  about  Lakeside  and  the  new  owner !" 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  settled  herself  into  a  chair. 

Hannah  Thurston  could  probably  have  told  her  more  about 
Mr.  Woodbury  than  she  already  knew ;  but  it  would  have 
been  unkind  to  cut  short  the  eager  narrative,  and  so  Bute's  re- 
port, with  many  additions  and  variations,  was  served  out  to 
them  in  chapters,  during  the  afternoon. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  61 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN    WHICH   MB.  WOODBURY  HEARS   A    WOMAN   SPEAK. 

IN  his  intercourse  with  the  society  of  his  new  home,  Wood- 
bury  found  fewer  distasteful  circumstances  to  be  overlooked, 
than  he  had  at  first  feared.  The  novelty  of  the  experience 
had  its  charm,  and,  as  his  mind  recovered  something  of  that 
active  interest  in  men  which  he  had  almost  unlearned,  he  was 
surprised  to  find  how  vital  and  absorbing  his  relations  with 
them  became.  From  the  very  earnestness  of  his  views,  how- 
ever, he  was  reticent  in  the  expression  of  them,  and  could  with 
difficulty  accustom  himself  to  the  discussion,  in  mixed  society,  of 
subjects  which  are  usually  only  broached  in  the  confidential  inti- 
macy of  friends.  Not  merely  "  Fate,  free-will,  foreknowledge 
absolute,"  but  the  privacy  of  individual  faiths,  doubts,  and  as- 
pirations, became  themes  of  discussion ;  even  the  shrinking 
sanctity  of  love  was  invaded,  and  the  ability  to  converse 
fluently  was  taken  by  the  community  of  Ptolemy  as  a  sign  of 
capacity  to  feel  deeply  on  these  subjects. 

At  the  dinners  and  evening  parties  of  the  English,  an  intel- 
lectual as  well  as  a  social  propriety  is  strictly  observed,  and  the 
man  who  makes  a  habit  of  producing  for  general  inspection, 
his  religious  convictions  or  his  moral  experiences,  is  speedily 
voted  a  bore.  Maxwell  Woodbury,  whose  long  residence  in 
Calcutta  had  fixed  his  habits,  in  this  respect,  was  at  first  more 
amused  than  shocked,  at  the  abandon  with  which  spiritual 
intimacies  were  exchanged,  in  the  society  of  Ptolemy.  He  soon 
learned,  however,  that  much  of  this  talk  was  merely  a  superfi- 
cial sentimentalism,  and  that  the  true  sanctities  of  the  speakers' 


62  HANNAH    THUESTON  : 

hearts  were  violated  more  in  appearance  than  in  fact.  Never- 
theless, he  felt  no  inclination  to  take  part  in  conversation  of 
this^  character,  and  fell  into  the  habit  of  assuming  a  mystical, 
paradoxical  tone,  whenever  he  was  forcibly  drawn  into  the 
discussion.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  was  tempted  to  take  the 
opposite  side  of  the  views  advocated,  simply  in  order  to  extort 
more  reckless  and  vehement  utterances  from  their  defenders. 
It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  his  lack  of  earnestness, — as 
it  seemed  to  the  others — was  attributed  by  many  to  a  stolid 
indifference  to  humanity.  Seth  Wattles  even  went  so  far  as 
to  say :  "  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  had  made  his  money  in 
the  accursed  opium  traffic." 

The  two  topics  which,  for  him,  possessed  an  intrinsically  re- 
pellant  character,  happened  to  be  those  which  were  at  that 
time  most  actively  discussed:  Spiritualism  and  Women's 
Rights.  He  had  seen  the  slight-of-hand  of  the  Indian  jugglers, 
far  more  wonderful  than  any  feats  supernaturally  performed 
in  the  presence  of  mediums,  and  the  professed  communications 
from  the  world  of  spirits  struck  him  as  being  more  inane 
twaddle  than  that  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  living  be- 
lievers. He  had  not  lived  thirty-six  years  without  as  much 
knowledge  of  woman  as  a  single  man  may  prafitably  acquire ; 
and  the  better  he  knew  the  sex,  the  more  tender  and  profound 
became  his  regard.  To  him,  in  his  strength,  however,  the  re- 
lation of  protector  was  indispensable  ;  the  rudest  blows  of  life 
must  first  fall  upon  his  shield.  The  idea  of  an  independent 
strength,  existing  side  by  side  with  his,  yet  without  requiring 
its  support,  was  unnatural  and  repulsive.  Aunt  Dennison,  in 
her  noble  self-abnegation  as  wife  and  mother,  was  more  queenly 
in  his  eyes,  than  Mary  Wollstonecraft  or. Madame  de  Stae'l. 
It  was  difficult  for  him  to  believe  how  any  truly  refined  and 
feminine  woman  could  claim  for  her  sex  a  share  in  the  special 
occupations  of  man. 

There  is  always  a  perverse  fate  which  attracts  one  into  the 
very  situations  he  wishes  to  avoid.  On  the  evening  when  the 
Sewing-Union  met  at  Merryfield's,  Woodbury  happened  to  be 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  63 

drawn  into  a  group  which  contained  Mrs.  Waldo,  Hannah 
Thurston,  and  the  host.  The  latter  was  speaking  of  a  plan 
for  a  Female  Medical  College. 

"It  is  the  first  step,"  said  he,  "and  its  success  will  over- 
throw the  dynasty  of  ideas,  under  which  woman  has  been 
crushed,  as  it  Avere."  The  phrase :  "  dynasty  of  ideas,"  he 
had  borrowed  from  a  recent  lecturer. 

"  Well",  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  musingly,  "  if  it  went  no  further 
I  should  not  have  much  to  say  against  it,  for  we  know  that 
women  are  the  best  nurses,  and  they  may  make  tolerable  doc- 
tors. But  I  should  prefer  that  somebody  else  than  myself 
made  the  beginning." 

"  You  are  right,"  remarked  Woodbury  ;  "  it  is  not  pleasant 
to  think  of  a  woman  standing  at  a  dissecting-table,  with  a 
scalpel  in  her  hand,  and  a  quarter  of  a  subject  before  her." 

Hannah  Thurston  shuddered  inwardly,  but  at  once  took  up 
the  gauntlet.  "  Why  not  ?"  she  asked.  "  Are  not  women 
capable  of  this,  and  more  than  this,  for  the  sake  of  knowledge 
that  will  enable  them  to  do  good  ?  Or  is  it  because  their 
minds  are  too  weak  to  grapple  with  the  mysteries  of  science?" 

Woodbury,  to  avoid  a  discussion  to  which  he  was  so 
strongly  averse,  assumed  a  gay,  bantering  tone.  "In  the 
presence  of  ladies,"  he  said,  smiling,  and  partly  directing  his 
words  to  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  there  is  only  one  way  of  answering 
the  latter  question." 

Hannah  Thurston  was  of  too  earnest  a  nature  to  endure 
trifling — for  such  seemed  his  reply.  Her  gray  eyes  kindled 
with  an  emotion  a  very  little  milder  than  contempt.  "  So !" 
she  exclaimed,  "  we  must  still  endure  the  degradation  of 
hollow  compliment.  We  are  still  children,  and  our  noise  can 
be  quieted  with  sugar-plums !" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Thurston !"  Woodbury  gravely 
answered.  "  My  apparent  disrespect  was  but  a  shift  to  avoid 
discussing  a  subject  which  I  have  never  seriously  considered, 
and  which,  I  will  only  say,  seems,  to  me  a  matter  of  instinct 
rather  than  of  argument.  Besides,"  he  added,  "  I  believe 


64  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

Mrs.  Waldo,   as  our  dictatress,  prohibits   debate   on    these 
occasions." 

The  lady  referred  to  immediately  came  to  his  assistance. 
"  I  do  prohibit  it ;"  said  she,  with  a  magisterial  wave  of  the 
hand ;  "  and  you  cannot  object  to  my  authority,  Hannah, 
since  you  have  a  chance  to  defend  our  sex,  and  cover  with 
confusion  all  such  incorrigible  bachelors  as  Mr.  Woodbury,  on 
Thursday  next.  I'm  sure  he's  a  misanthrope,  or — mis — what- 
ever you  call  it." 

"  A  misogynist  ?"  Woodbury  gayly  suggested.  "  No,  no, 
Mrs.  Waldo.  Do  not  you,  as  a  clergyman's  wife,  know  that 
there  may  be  a  devotional  feeling  so  profound  as  to  find  the 
pale  of  any  one  sect  too  narrow  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  looked  earnestly  at  the  speaker.  What 
did  he  mean  ? — was  that  also  jest  ?  she  asked  herself.  She 
was  unaccustomed  to  such  mental  self-possession.  Most  of 
the  men  she  knew  would  have  answered  her  with  spirit,  con 
sidering  that  to  decline  a  challenge  thrown  down  by  a  woman 
was  equivalent  to  acknowledging  the  intellectual  equality  of 
the  sexes — this  being  the  assertion  which  they  most  strenu- 
ously resisted.  Mr.  Woodbury,  however,  had  withdrawn  as 
a  matter  of  taste  and  courtesy.  She  had  given  him  the 
opportunity  of  doing  so,  a  little  to  her  own  discomfiture,  and 
was  conscious  that  her  self-esteem  was  wounded  by  the  result. 
She  could  not  quite  forgive  him  for  this,  though  his  manner, 
she  felt,  compelled  respect.  At  the  risk  of  having  her  silence 
misinterpreted,  she  made  no  reply. 

Woodbury,  who  had  not  understood  Mrs.  Waldo's  allusion, 
took  an  opportunity,  later  in  the  evening,  to  ask  for  an  ex- 
planation. 

"  I  thought  you  had  heard,"  said  she.  "  There  is  to  be  a 
meeting  in  favor  of  Women's  Rights,  on  Thursday  afternoon, 
at  the  Hall,  in  Ptolemy.  Mr.  Bemis,  the  great  advocate  of 
the  reform,  is  to  be  there,  and  I  believe  they  expect  Bessie 
Stryker." 

"  Who  is  Bess'e  Strvker  ?" 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  65 

"  Mr.  Woodbury !  It's  well  you  did  not  ask  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton  that  question.  You've  been  out  of  the  country — I  had 
forgotten  that ;  but  I  should  think  you  must  have  heard  of 
her  in  Calcutta.  She  has  travelled  all  over  the  country, 
lecturing  on  the  subject,  and  has  made  such  a  name  as  a 
speaker  that  everybody  goes  to  hear  her.  She  is  quite  pretty, 
and  wears  the  new  Bloomer  dress." 

"  Really,  you  excite  my  curiosity.  I  must  attend  this 
meeting,  if  only  to  show  Miss  Thurston  that  I  am  above  the 
vulgar  prejudice  which  I  presume  she  imputes  to  ine." 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Woodbury.  Hannah  Thurston  is  not  unjust, 
whatever  faults  she  may  have.  But  you  should  know  that  she 
has  a  dislike — morbid,  it  seems  to  me — of  the  compliments 
which  you  men  generally  pay  to  us  women.  For  my  part,  I 
see  no  harm  in  them." 

"  Both  of  you,  at  least,  are  candid,"  replied  Woodbury, 
laughing,  "  and  that  trait,  with  me,  covers  a  multitude  of 
weaknesses." 

Woodbury  went  to  the  meeting  on  the  following  Thursday, 
much  as  he  would  have  attended  a  Brahminical  festival  in 
honor  of  the  Goddess  Unna-Purna.  He  felt  no  particular 
interest  in  the  subject  to  be  treated,  except  a  curiosity  to  know 
how  it  could  be  rendered  plausible  to  a  semi-intelligent 
auditory.  Of  Ptolemy,  privately  and  socially,  he  had  seen 
something,  but  he  had  not  yet  mingled  with  Ptolemy  in 
public. 

"The  Hall,"  as  it  was  called  (being  the  only  one  in  the 
place),  was  a  brick  building,  situated  on  the  principal  street. 
Its  true  name  was  Tumblety  Hall,  from  the  builder  and  owner, 
Mr.  Jabez  Tumblety,  who  had  generously  bestowed  his  name 
upon  it  in  consideration  of  receiving  ten  per  cent,  on  his  in- 
vestment, from  the  lease  of  it  to  phrenologists,  the  dancing 
schgol,  Ethiopian  Minstrels,  exhibitors  of  laughing  gas,  lec- 
turers on  anatomy  (the  last  lecture  exclusively  for  gentlemen), 
jugglers,  temperance  meetings,  caucuses  of  the  Hunkers  and 
Barnburners,  and,  on  Sundays,  to  the  Bethesdeans  in  the 


66  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

morning  and  the  Spiritualists  in  the  evening.  Its  internal 
aspect  was  rather  shabby.  The  roughly-plastered  walls  offered 
too  great  a  temptation  for  the  pencils  and  charcoal  of  un- 
fledged artists,  when  bored  by  a  windy  orator.  Various 
grotesque  heads,  accompanied  by  names  and  dates,  made  up 
for  the  absence  of  frescoes,  but  the  talent  thus  displayed  did 
not  seem  to  be  appreciated,  for  under  some  of  them  was 
written,  in  a  later  hand  :  "  he  is  a  fool."  The  benches  were 
of  unpainted  pine,  with  long  back-rails,  which,  where  they 
had  not  been  split  off  by  the  weight  of  the  leaning  crowd, 
were  jagged  with  whittled  notches.  Along  the  further  end 
of  the  hall  ran  a  platform,  raised  three  feet  above  the  floor, 
and  containing  a  table,  three  arm-chairs,  and  two  settees.  The 
floor  might  have  been  swept,  but  had  not  recently  been 
washed,  to  judge  from  the  stains  of  tobacco-juice  by  which  it 
was  mottled. 

When  Woodbury  entered,  the  seats  were  nearly  all  occu- 
pied, an  audience  of  five  hundred  persons  being  in  attendance. 
Most  of  them  were  evidently  from  the  country;  some,  indeed, 
who  were  favorably  inclined  to  the  cause,  had  come  from  Mul- 
ligansville  and  Atauga  City.  All  the  loafers  of  Ptolemy  were 
there,  of  course,  and  occupied  good  seats.  The  few  members 
of  the  respectable,  conservative,  moneyed  class,  whose  curiosity 
drew  them  in,  lingered  near  the  door,  on  the  edges  of  the 
crowd,  in  order  that  they  might  leave  whenever  so  disposed, 
without  attracting  attention  to  their  presence. 

Mr.  Merryfield  occupied  the  middle  chair  on  the  platform, 
with  a  heavy-faced,  bald-templed,  belligerent  looking  gentleman 
on  his  right,  and  a  middle-aged  lady  in  black  silk,  on  his  left. 
The  settees  were  also  occupied  by  persons  of  both  sexes  who 
were  interested  in  the  cause.  Among  them  was  Hannah 
Thurston. 

A  whispered  consultation  was"  carried  on  for  some  ^ime 
among  the  party  on  the  platform,  the  belligerent  gentleman 
evidently  having  the  most  to  say.  Finally  Mr.  Merryfield 
arose,  thumped  upon  the  table,  and  after  waiting  a  minute 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  67 

for  the  "  shs  /"  to  subside,  announced :  "  The  meeting  will  now 
come  to  order !" 

The  meeting  being  already  in  order,  no  effect  was  produced 
by  this  announcement. 

"  As  we  have  assembled  together,  as  it  were,"  he  continued, 
"  principally  to  listen  to  the  noble  advocates  of  the  glorious 
cause  who  are  to  appear  before  us,  my  friends  suggest  that — 
that  there  should  be  no — that  we  should  dispense,  as  it  were, 
with  a  regular  organization,  and  proceed  to  listen  to  their 
voices.  The  only — I  would  suggest,  if  the  meeting  is  willing, 
that  we  should  appoint — that  is,  that  a  committee  should  be 
named,  as  it  were,  to  draw  up  resolutions  expressing  their — 
our  sense  on  the  subject  of  Women's  Rights.  Perhaps,"  he 
added,  turning  around,  "  some  one  will  make  the  motion." 

"  I  move  that  a  committee  of  six  be  appointed !"  "  I  second 
the  motion !"  were  heard,  almost  simultaneously. 

"  Those  in  favor  of  that  motion  will  signify  their  assent  by 
saying  'Aye!'"  said  Mr.  Merryfield. 

"  Aye !"  rang  through  the  house  with  startling  unanimity, 
all  the  boys  expressing  their  enthusiastic  assent. 

"  Contrary—'  No  !' '' 

Dead  silence. 

"  The  Ayes  have  it.  Who  shall  the  Committee  be  com- 
posed of." 

"  Both  sexes  must  be  represented.  Three  men  and  three 
women,"  said  the  belligerent  gentleman,  suddenly,  half  rising 
from  his  seat. 

In  a  short  time  the  members  of  the  Committee  were  appoint- 
ed, and,  there  being  no  further  business  on  hand,  Mr.  Merry- 
field  said :  "  I  have  now  the  pleasure,  as  it  were,  of  introducing 
to  the  audience  the  noble  advocate  of  Women's  Rights,  Isaiah 
Bemis,  who — whose  name  is — is  well  known  to  you  all  as  the 
champion  of  his — I  mean,  her — persecuted  sex."  Mr.  Merry- 
field  was  so  disconcerted  by  the  half-suppressed  laughter  which 
followed  this  blunder,  that  the  termination  of  his  eulogium  be- 
came still  more  confused.  "  The  name  of  Isaiah  Bemis,"  he 


68  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

said,  "does  not  need  ray  condern — commendation.  When 
Woman  shall  fill  her  true  spere,  it  will  shine — will  be  written 
among  the  martyrs  of  Reform,  as  it  were,  for  Truth,  crushed 
to  Earth,  rises  up  in  spite  of — of — though  the  heavens  fall !" 

Mr.  Bemis,  who  was  no  other  than  the  gentleman  of  bel- 
ligerent aspect,  already  mentioned,  at  once  arose,  bowing 
gravely  in  answer  to  a  slight,  hesitating,  uncertain  sound  of 
applause.  The  Ptolemy  public  had  not  listened  for  years  to 
speakers  of  all  kinds,  and  on  all  subjects,  without  acquiring 
some  ,degree  of  critical  perception.  They  both  enjoyed  and 
prided  themselves  on  their  acumen,  and  a  new  man,  whatever 
his  doctrines  might  be,  was  sure  that  he  would  find  a  full 
house  to  receive  him.  If  he  possessed  either  eloquence  or 
humor,  in  any  appreciable  degree,  he  had  no  reason  to  com- 
plain of  his  reception.  The  class  of  hearers  to  which  we  refer 
did  not  consider  themselves  committed  to  the  speaker's  views 
by  their  manifestations  of  applause.  Off  the  platform,  there 
were  not  twenty  advocates  of  Women's  Rights  in  the  whole 
audience,  yet  all  were  ready  to  hear  Mr.  Bemis,  and  to  approve 
a  good  thing,  if  he  should  happen  to  say  it. 

A  few  minutes,  however,  satisfied  them  that  he  was  not  the 
kind  of  speaker  they  coveted.  He  took  for  his  text  that  maxim 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  that  "  all  governments  de- 
rive their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed,"  first 
proved  the  absolute  justice  of  the  theory,  and  then  exhibited 
the  flagrant  violation  of  it  in  the  case  of  w^oman.  She  is 
equally  obliged,  with  man,  to  submit  to  the  laws,  he  said,  but 
has  no  voice  in  making  them;  even  those  laws  which  control 
her  property,  her  earnings,  her  children,  her  person  itself,  are 
enacted  without  consultation  with  her.  She  not  only  loses  her 
name,  but  her  individual  privileges  are  curtailed,  as  if  she  be- 
longed to  an  inferior  order  of  beings.  The  character  of  his 
harangue  was  aggressive  throughout.  He  referred  as  little 
as  possible,  to  any  inherent  difference  in  the  destinies  of  sex ; 
men  and  women  were  simply  human  beings,  and  in  Society,  and 
Law,  and  Government,  there  should  be  no  distinction  made 


A    STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  69 

between  them.  There  was  a  certain  specious  display  of  logic 
in  his  address ;  the  faulty  links  were  glozed  over,  so  that  his 
chain  of  argument  appeared  sound  and  strong,  from  end  to 
end.  Granting  his  premises,  indeed,  which  he  assumed  with 
an  air,  as  if  they  were  beyond  dispute — all  the  rest  readily  fol- 
lowed. Those  who  believed  with  him,  not  perceiving  the  de- 
fect in  his  basis,  were  charmed  with  the  force  and  clearness  of 
his  views. 

A  crowd  feels,  not  reasons,  and  the  auditors,  after  an  hour 
of  this  talk,  began  to  manifest  signs  of  weariness.  Even 
Woodbury,  to  whom  the  whole  scene  was  a  study — or,  rather, 
a  show — only  kept  his  place  from  a  desire  to  hear  the  famous 
Bessie  Stryker. 

Mr.  Bemis  at  last  sat  down,  and  some  further  whispering 
ensued.  There  was  a  slight  hitch  in  the  proceedings,  it  was 
evident.  In  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Merryfield  again  arose.  "  My 
friends,"  said  he ;  ".I  regret  to  be  able  to  state  that  we  are 
disappointed,  as  it  were,  in  listening — in  the  arrival  of  Bessie 
Stryker.  We  expected  her  in  the  afternoon  stage  coming  from 
Cephalonia,  and  was  to  have  lectured  there  last  night,  but  has 
arrived  without  her.  But  I  hope,  nevertheless,  that  you  will— 
that  it  will  be  agreeable  to  you,  as  it  were,  to  hear  a  few 
words  from  our  friend,  Hannah  Thurston,  who  requires — whom 
you  know  already." 

Hearty  signs  of  approbation  greeted  this  announcement. 
Thus  appealed  to,  Hannah  Thurston,  who  at  first  made  a  move- 
ment of  hesitation,  rose,  quietly  removed  her  bonnet,  and 
walked  forward  to  the  table.  Her  face  seemed  a  little  paler 
than  usual,  but  her  step  was  firm,  and  the  hand  which  she 
placed  upon  the  table  did  not  tremble.  After  a  pause,  as  if 
to  collect  and  isolate  her  mind  from  external  impressions,  she 
commenced  speaking,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  only  its  silver 
purity  of  tone  enabled  her  to  be  heard.  Yet  the  slight  tremu- 
lousness  it  betrayed  indicated  no  faltering  of  courage ;  it  was 
simply  a  vibration  of  nerves  rather  tensely  strung. 

"I  will  not  repeat,"  she  began,  "the  arguments  by  which 


70  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

the  eloquent  speaker  has  illustrated  the  wrongs  endured  by 
woman,  under  all  governments  and  all  systems  of  law,  whether 
despotic  or  republican.  These  are  considerations  which  lie 
further  from  us ;  we  are  most  concerned  for  those  injuries 
which  require  an  immediate  remedy.  When  we  have  removed 
the  social  prejudices  which  keep  our  sex  in  a  false  position — 
when  we  have  destroyed  the  faith  of  the  people  in  the  tyran- 
nical traditions  by  which  we  are  ruled — the  chains  of  the  law 
will  break  of  themselves.  As  a  beginning  to  that  end,  woman 
must  claim  an  equal  right  to  education,  to  employment,  and  re- 
ward. These  are  the  first  .steps  in  our  reform,  to  reach  the 
sources  of  those  evils  which  cause  our  greatest  suffering.  We 
can  endure  a  little  longer,  to  be  deprived  of  the  permission  to 
vote  and  to  rule,  because  the  denial  is  chiefly  an  assault  upon 
our  intelligence ;  but  we  need  now — at  once — and,  my  friends, 
I  am  pleading  for  millions  who  cannot  speak  for  themselves — 
we  need  an  equal  privilege  with  man,  to  work  and  to  be  justly 
paid.  The  distinction  which  is  made,  to  our  prejudice,  renders 
us  weak  and  helpless,  compared  with  our  brethren,  to  whom 
all  fields  are  open,  and  who  may  claim  the  compensation  which 
is  justified  by  their  labor,  without  incurring  ridicule  or  con- 
tempt. They  are  even  allowed  to  usurp  branches  which,  if 
the  popular  ideas  of  woman's  weakness,  and  man's  chivalry 
towards  her  be  true,  should  be  left  for  us.  Even  admitting 
that  our  sphere  is  limited — that  there  are  only  a  few  things 
which  we  may  properly  do — is  it  generous,  is  it  even  just,  that 
man,  who  has  the  whole  range  of  life  to  choose  from,  should 
crowd  us  out  from  these  few  chances  of  earning  our  bread  ? 
Or  to  force  us  to  perform  the  same  labor  for  a  smaller  remu- 
neration, because  we  are  women  ?  Could  we  not  measure  a 
yard  of  calico  as  rapidly,  or  choose  a  shade  of  zephyr  as  cor- 
rectly as  the  elegant  young  men  who  stand  behind  the  coun- 
ter ?  With  our  more  sensitive  physical  organization,  might 
not  all  tasks  requiring  quickness,  nicety  of  touch,  and  careful 
arrangement,  be  safely  confided  to  our  hands  ?" 

At  this  point  the  audience,  which  had  quite  lost  its  air  of 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  71 

weariness,  broke  into  subdued  but  cordial  applause.  Hannah 
Thurston's  voice,  as  she  acquired  possession  of  her  subject,  in- 
creased in  strength,  but  at  no  time  appeared  to  rise  above  a 
conversational  tone.  Her  manner  also,  was  simply  conversa- 
tional. The  left  hand  slightly  touched  the  table,  as  if  she  only 
wished  to  feel  a  support  at  hand,  not  use  it ;  while  she  now 
and  then,  involuntarily,  made  a  simple  movement  with  the 
right.  The  impression  she  produced  was  that  of  a  woman 
compelled  by  some  powerful  neces'sity  or  duty  to  appear 
before  a  public  assembly,  not  of  one  who  coveted  and  enjoyed 
the  position.  Woodbury  was  profoundly  interested  in  the 
speaker,  and  in  her  words.  Both  were  equally  new  to  him. 

"  What  we  now  ask,  therefore,  my  friends,"  she  continued, 
"is  that  the  simple  justice  be  meted  out  to  us,  which  we  feel 
that  man — without  adopting  any  of  our  views  concerning  the 
true  position  of  woman — is  bound  to  give.  We  ask  that  his 
boasted  chivalry  be  put  into  practice,  not  merely  in  escorting 
us  to  concerts,  or  giving  us  his  seat  in  a  railroad-car,  or  serv- 
ing us  first  at.  the  table — or  in  all  other  ways  by  which  the 
reputation  of  chivalry  and  gallantry  towards  our  sex  is  earned 
at  little  cost ;  but  in  leaving  open  to  us  those  places  which  he 
confesses  we  are  fitted  to  fill — in  paying  us,  as  teachers,  clerks, 
tailors,  or  operatives,  the  same  wages  for  the  same  woik  which 
men  do !"  . 

This  was  so  simply  and  fairly  stated,  that  the  audience  again 
heartily  approved.  There  was  nothing,  in  fact,  of  the  peculiar 
doctrines  of  Women's  Rights  in  what  she  said — nothing  to 
which  they  could  not  have  individually  assented,  without  com- 
promising their  position  in  regard  to  the  main  point.  Mr. 
Bemis,  however,  drew  down  his  heavy  brows,  and  whispered 
to  the  chairman  :  "  Very  good,  so  far  as  it  goes,  but  timidly 
stated.  We  must  strike  the  evil  at  its  root." 

After  dwelling  for  some  time  on  this  aspect  of  the  question, 
and  illustrating  it  by  a  number  of  examples,  Hannah  Thurston 
went  a  step  further. 

"  But  we  deny,"  she  said,  *'  that  Man  has  any  natural  right 


72  HANNAH   THUBSTON  : 

to  prescribe  the  bounds  within  which  Woman  may  labor  and 
Jive.  God  alone  has  that  right,  and  His  laws  govern  both 
sexes  with  the  same  authority.  Man  has  indeed  assumed  it, 
because  he  disbelieves  in  the  intellectual  equality  of  women. 
He  has  treated  her  as  an  older  child,  to  whom  a  certain  amount 
of  freedom  might  be  allowed,  but  whom  it  was  not  safe  to 
release  entirely  from  his  guardianship.,.  He  has  educated  her 
in  this  belief,  through  all  the  ages  that  have  gone  by  since  the 
creation  of  the  world.  Now  and  then,  women  have  arisen,  it 
is  true,  to  vindicate  the  equal  authority  of  their  sex,  and  have 
nobly  won  their  places  in  history ;  but  the  growth  of  the  truth 
has  been  slow — so  slow,  that  to-day,  in  this  enlightened  ma- 
turity of  the  world,  we  must  plead  and  prove  all  that  which 
you  should  grant  without  our  asking.  It  is  humiliating  that 
a  woman  is  obliged  to  collect  evidence  to  convince  men  of  her 
equal  intelligence.  She,  who  is  also  included  in  the  one  word, 
Man !  Placed  side  by  side  with  him  in  Paradise — Mother  of 
the  Saviour  who  came  to  redeem  his  fallen  race — first  and 
holiests  among  the  martyrs  and  saints !  Young  men  !  Think 
of  your  own  mothers,  and  spare  us  this  humiliation !" 

These  words,  uttered  with  startling  earnestness,  produced  a 
marked  sensation  in  the  audience.  Perhaps  it  was  a  peculiarity 
springing  from  her  Quaker  descent,  that  the  speaker's  voice 
gradually  assumed  the  character  of  a  musical  recitative,  be- 
coming a  clear,  tremulous  chant,  almost  in  monotone.  This 
gave  it  a  sad,  appealing  expression,  which  touched  the  emo- 
tional nature  of  the  hearer,  and  clouded  his  judgment  for  the 
time  being.  After  a  pause,  she  continued  in  her  ordinary 
tone: 

"  The  pages  of  history  do  not  prove  the  superiority  of  man. 
When  we  -consider  the  position  which  he  has  forced  woman  to 
occupy,  we  should  rather  wonder  that  she  has  so  often  resist- 
ed his  authority,  and  won  possession  of  the  empire  which  he 
had  appropriated  to  himself.  In  the  earliest  ages  he  admitted 
her  capacity  to  govern,  a  power  so  high  and  important  in  its 
nature,  that  we  should  be  justified  in  claiming  that  it  embraces 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  73 

all  other  capacities,  and  in  resting  our  defence  on  that  alone. 
Such  women  as  Semiramis  and  Zenobia,  Margaret  of  Denmark, 
and  Elizabeth  of  England,  Maria  Theresa,  and  Catharine  of 
Russia,   are  not  the  least — not   second,   even — among   great 
rulers.     Jael  and  Judith,  and  the  Maid  of  Orleans  stand  no 
less  high  among  the  deliverers  of  nations,  than  Leonidas  and 
William  Tell.     The  first  poet  who  sang  may  have  been  Homer, 
but  the  second  was  Sappho.*     Even^in  the  schools  of  Philoso- 
phy, the  ancients  had  their  Hypatia,  and  the  scholars  of  the 
Middle  Ages  honored  the  learning  of  Olympia  Morata.     Men 
claim  the  field  of  scientific  research  as  being  exclusively  their 
own ;  but  the  names  of  Caroline  Herschel  in  England,  and 
Maria  Mitchell  in  America,  prove  that  even  here  women  can- 
not justly  be  excluded.     Ah,  my  friends!  when  God  calls  a 
human  being  to  be  the  discoverer  of  His  eternal  laws,  or  the 
illustrator  of  His  eternal  beauty,  He  does  not  stop  to  consider 
the  question  of  sex !     If  you  grant  human  intellect  at  all  to 
Woman,  you  must  grant  the  possibility  of  inspiration,  of  gen- 
ius, of  a  life  divinely  selected  as  the  instrument  of  some  great 
and  glorious   work.     Admitting  this,  you  may  safely  throw- 
open  to  us  all  avenues  to  knowledge.     Hampered  as  Woman 
still  is — circumscribed  in  her  spheres  of  action  and  thought 
(for  her  false  education  permanently  distorts  her  habits  of 
mind) — she  is  yet,  at  present,  far  above  the  Saxon  bondmen 
from  whom  the  most  of  you  are  descended.     You  know  that 
she  has  risen  thus  far,  not  only  without  injury  to  herself,  but 
to  your  advantage :  why  check  her  progress,  here?     Nay,  why 
check  it  any  where  ?     If  Man's  dominion  be  thereby  limited, 
would  his  head  be  less  uneasy,  if  the  crown  he  claims  were 
shared  with  another  ?     Is  not  a  friend  better  than  a  servant  ? 
If  Marriage  were  a  partnership  for  Woman,  instead  of  a  clerk- 
ship, the  Head  of  the  House  would  feel  his  burthen  so  much 
the  lighter.    If  the  physician's  wife  were  competent  to  prepare 
his  medicines,  or  the  merchant's  to  keep  his  books,  or  the  law- 

*  Miss  Thurston  makes  these  statements  on  her  own  responsibility. 
4 


74  HANNAH   THTJESTON-: 

yer's  to  draw  up  a  bond,  the  gain  would  be  mutual.  For  Wo- 
man, to  be  a  true  helpmeet  to  Man,  must  know  all  that  Man 
knows ;  and,  even  as  she  is  co-heir  with  him  of  Heaven — re- 
ceiving, not  the  legal  '  Third  part,'  but  all  of  its  infinite  bles- 
sedness,— so  she  should  be  co-proprietor  of  the  Earth,  equally 
armed  to  subdue  its  iniquities,  and  prepare  it  for  a  better 
future !" 

With  these  words,  Hannah  Thurston  closed  her  address. 
As  she  quietly  walked  back  to  her  seat  and  resumed  her  bon- 
net, there  was  a  stir  of  satisfaction  among  the  audience,  ter- 
minating in  a  round  of  applause,  which,  however,  she  did  not 
acknowledge  in  any  way.  Although,  in  no  part  of  the  dis- 
course, had  she  touched  the  profounder  aspects  of  the  subject, 
especially  the  moral  distinctions  of  sex,  she  had  given  utter- 
ance to  many  absolute  truths,  which  were  too  intimately  con- 
nected, in  her  mind,  with  the  doctrine  she  had  adopted,  for 
her  to  perceive  their  real  independence  of  it.  Thus,  most  of 
her  hearers,  while  compelled  to  agree  with  her  in  many  re- 
spects, still  felt  themselves  unconvinced  in  the  main  particular. 
She  was  not  aware  of  her  own  inability  to  discuss  the  question 
freely,  and  ascribed  to  indifference  or  prejudice  that  reluc- 
tance among  men,  which  really  sprang  from  their  generous 
consideration  for  her  sex. 

As  for  Woodbury,  he  had  listened  with  an  awakened  in- 
terest in  her  views,  which,  for  the  time,  drew  his  attention 
from  the  speaker's  personality.  Her  first  appearance  had 
excited  a  singular  feeling  of  compassion — partly  for  the  trial 
which,  he  fancied,  she  must  undergo,  and  partly  for  the 
mental  delusion  which  was  its  cause.  It  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  was  reassured  by  her  calmness  and  self-possession. 
At  the  close,  he  was  surprised  to  discover  in  himself  a  lurking 
sensation  of  regret  that  she  had  not  spoken  at  greater  length. 
"  I  was  wrong  the  other  night,"  he  thought.  "  This  woman 
is  in  severe  earnest,  and  would  have  been  less  offended  if  I 
had  plumply  declined  her  challenge,  instead  of  evading  it.  I 
have  yet  something  to  learn  from  these  people." 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  75 

The  Committee  of  Six  now  made  their  report.  Seth  Wat- 
tles, who  was  one  of  the  number,  and  had  assumed  to  himself 
the  office  of  Chairman,  read  a  string  of  Resolutions,  setting 
forth,  That :  Whereas,  this  is  an  Age  of  Progress,  and  no  re- 
form should  be  overlooked  in  the  Great  Battle  for  the  Right : 
Therefore,  Resolved — That  we  recognize  in  this  movement 
for  the  Equal  Rights  of  Woman  a  cause  without  the  support 
of  which  no  other  cause  can  be  permanently  successful :  and, 
Resolved,  That  we  will  in  every  way  help  forward  the  good 
work,  by  the  Dissemination  of  Light  and  Information,  tending 
to  set  forth  the  claims  of  Woman  before  the  Community :  also, 
Resolved,  That  we  will  circulate  petitions  to  the  State  Legis- 
lature, for  the  investment  of  Woman  with  all  civil  and  political 
rights :  and,  lastly,  Resolved,  That,  we  will  use  our  best  en- 
deavors to  increase  the  circulation  of  The  Monthly  Hollyhock, 
a  journal  devoted  to  the  cause  of  Women's  Rights. 

Mr.  Merryfield  arose  and  inquired :  "  Shall  the  Report  of 
the  Committee  be  adopted  ?"  He  fortunately  checked  himself 
in  time  not  to  add  :  "  as  it  were." 

"I  move  its  adoption  !"  "I  second  the  motion!"  were  im- 
mediately heard  from  the  platform. 

"  All  who  are  in  favor  of  adopting  the  Resolutions  we  have 
just  heard  read,  will  signify  their  assent  by  saying  'Aye !' " 

A  scattering,  irregular  fire  of  "  Ayes"  arose  in  reply.  The 
boys  felt  that  their  sanction  would  be  out  of  place  on  this  occa- 
sion, with  the  exception  of  two  or  three,  who  hazarded  their 
voices,  in  the  belief  that  they  would  not  be  remarked,  in  the 
general  vote.  To  their  dismay,  they  launched  themselves  into 
an  interval  of  silence,  and  their  shrill  pipes  drew  all  eyes  to 
their  quarter  of  the  house. 

"  Contrary,—'  No  !'  " 

The  opponents  of  the  movement,  considering  that  this  was 
not  their  meeting,  refrained  from  voting. 

"Before  the  meeting  adjourns,"  said  Mr.  Merryfield,  again 
rising,  "  I  must — I  take  the  liberty  to  hope,  as  it  were,  that 
the  truths  we  have  heard  this  day  may  spread — may  sink 


76  HANNAH   THTTKSTON  J 

deeply  into  our  hearts.  We  expect  to  be  able  to  announce, 
before  long,  a  visit  from  Bessie  Stryker,  whose  failure — whom 
we  have  missed  from  among  our  eleg — eloquent  champions. 
But  we  trust  she  is  elsewhere,  and  our  loss  is  their  gain.  I 
thank  the  audience  for  your  attendance — attention,  I  should 
say,  and  approbation  of  our  glorious  reform.  As  there  is  no 
further  business  before  the  meeting,  and  our  friends  from  Mul- 
ligansville  and  Atauga  City  have  some  distance  to  return  home, 
we  will  now  adjourn  in  time  to  reach  their- destination." 

At  this  hint  the  audience  rose,  and  began  to  crowd  out  the 
narrow  door-way  and  down  the  steep  staircase.  Woodbury, 
pushed  and  hustled  along  with  the  rest,  was  amused  at  the 
remarks  of  the  crowd:  "He? — oh,  he's  a  gassy  old  fellow!" 
u  Well,  there's  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  it!"  "Bessie  Stryker? 
I'd  rather  hear  Hannah  Thurston  any  day  !"  "  He  didn't  half 
like  it!"  "She  has  a  better  right  to  say  such  things  than  he 
has !" — and  various  other  exclamations,  the  aggregate  of  which 
led  him  to  infer  that  the  audience  felt  no  particular  interest  in 
the  subject  of  Women's  Rights,  but  had  a  kindly  personal  feel- 
ing towards  Hannah  Thurston. 


A    STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  77 


CHAPTER  VI. 

* 

IN   WHICH   LAKESIDE   BECOMES   LIVELY. 

WINTER  at  last  set  in — the  steady  winter  of  Central  New 
York,  where  the  snow  which  falls  at  the  beginning  of  Decem- 
ber usually  covers  the  ground  until  March.  Ptolemy,  at  least, 
which  lies  upon  the  northern  side  of  the  watershed  between 
the  Susquehanna  and  the  rivers  which  flow  into  Lake  Ontario, 
has  a  much  less  variable  winter  temperature  than  the  great 
valley,  lying  some  thirty  miles  to  the  southward.  Atauga 
Lake,  in  common  with  Cayuga  and  Seneca,  never  freezes, 
except  across  the  shallows  at  its  southern  end ;  but  its  waters, 
so  piercingly  cold  that  they  seem  to  cut  the  skin  like  the  blade 
of  a  knife,  have  no  power  to  soften  the  northern  winds.  The 
bottoms  between  Ptolemy  and  the  lake,  and  also,  in  fact,  the 
Eastern  and  Western  Valleys,  for  some  miles  behind  the  vil- 
lage, are  open  to  the  North ;  and  those  sunny  winter  days 
which,  in  more  sheltered  localities,  breathe  away  the  snow, 
here  barely  succeed  in  softening  it  a  little.  On  the  hills  it  is 
even  too  deep  for  pleasure.  As  soon  as  a  highway  has  been 
broken  through  the  drifts,  the  heavy  wood-sleds  commence 
running,  and  very  soon  wear  it  into  a  succession  of  abrupt 
hollows,  over  which  the  light  cutters  go  pitching  like  their 
nautical  namesakes  in  a  chopping  sea. 

Woodbury,  in  obedience  to  a  promise  exacted  by  his  sister, 
went  to  New  York  for  the  holidays,  and,  as  might  have  been 
anticipated,  became  entangled  in  a  succession  of  social  engage- 
ments, which  detained  him  until  the  middle  of  January.  He 
soon  grew  tired  of  acting  as  escort  to  his  two  pretty,  but  (it 


f  8  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

must  be  confessed,  in  strict  confidence),  shallow  nieces,  whose 
sole  esthetic  taste  was  opera — and  in  opera,  especially  Verdi. 
After  a  dozen  nights  of  "  darling  Bosio,"  and  "  delightful  Be- 
neventano,"  and  "  all  the  rest  of  them,"  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  hear,  as  a  change,  even  the  "Taza  be-taza"  of  the  Hin- 
doo nautch-girls.  A  season  of  eastern  rains  and  muddy  streets 
made  the  city  insupportable,  and — greatly  to  the  wonder  of 
his  sister's  family — he  declined  an  invitation  to  the  grand 
Fifth  Avenue  ball  of  Mrs.  Luther  Leathers,  in  order  to  return 
to  the  wilderness  of  Ptolemy. 

Taking  the  New  York  and  Erie  express-train  to  the  town 
of  Miranda,  he  there  chartered  a  two-horse  cutter,  with  an 
Irish  attachment,  and  set  out  early  the  next  morning.  He 
had  never  before  approached  Ptolemy  from  this  side,  and  the 
journey  had  all  the  charm  of  a  new  region.  It  was  a  crisp, 
clear  day,  the  blood  of  the  horses  was  quickened  by  the  frosty 
air,  and  the  cutter  slid  rapidly  and  noiselessly  over  the  well- 
beaten  track.  With  a  wolf-skin  robe  on  his  knees,  Woodbury 
sat  in  luxurious  warmth,  and  experienced  a  rare  delight  in 
breathing  the  keen,  electric  crystal  of  the  atmosphere.  It  was 
many  years  since  he  had  felt  such  an  exquisite  vigor  of  life 
within  him — such  a  nimble  play  of  the  aroused  blood — such 
lightness  of  heart,  and  hope,  and  courage  !  The  snow-crystals 
sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  pure  shoulders  of  the  hills 
before  him  shone  like  silver  against  the  naked  blue  of  the  sky. 
He  sang  aloud,  one  after  another,  the  long-forgotten  songs, 
until  his  moustache  turned  to  ice  and  hung  upon  his  mouth 
like  the  hasp  of  a  padlock. 

Rising  out  of  the  Southern  valleys,  he  sped  along,  over  the 
cold,  rolling  uplands  of  the  watershed,  and  reached  Mulligans- 
ville  towards  noon.  Here  the  road  turned  westward,  and  a 
further  drive  of  three  miles  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the 
long  descent  to  East  Atauga  Creek.  At  this  point,  a  superb 
winter  landscape  was  unfolded  before  him.  Ptolemy,  with  its 
spires,  its  one  compactly-built,  ambitious  street,  its  scattered 
houses  and  gardens,  lay  in  the  centre  of  the  picture.  On  the 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  79 

white  floor  of  the  valley  were  drawn,  with  almost  painful 
sharpness  and  distinctness,  the  outlines  of  farm-houses,  and 
barns,  fences,  isolated  trees,  and  the  winding  lines  of  elm  and 
alder  which  marked  the  courses  of  the  streams.  Beyond  the 
mouth  of  the  further  valley  rose  the  long,  cultivated  sweep  of 
the  western  hill,  flecked  with  dull-purple  patches  of  pine  forest. 
Northward,  across  the  white  meadows  and  the  fringe  of  trees 
along  Roaring  Brook,  rose  the  sunny  knoll  of  Lakeside,  shel- 
tered by  the  dark  woods  behind,  while  further,  stretching  far 
away  between  the  steep  shores,  gleamed  the  hard,  steel-blue 
sheet  of  the  lake.  The  air  was  so  in  tensely  clear  that  the  dis- 
tance was  indicated  only  by  a  difference  in  the  hue  of  objects, 
not  by  their  diminished  distinctness. 

"  By  Jove  !  this  is  glorious !"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  scarcely 
conscious  that  he  spoke. 

"  Shure,  an'  it's  a  fine  place,  SUIT  !"  said  the  Irish  driver,  ap- 
propriating the  exclamation. 

Shortly  after  commencing  the  descent,  a  wreck  was  descried 
ahead.  A  remnant  of  aristocracy — or,  at  least,  a  fondness  for 
aristocratic  privilege — still  lingers  among  our  republican  peo- 
ple, and  is  manifested  in  its  most  offensive  form,  by  the  drivers 
of  heavy  teams.  No  one  ever  knew  a  lime- wagon  or  a  wood- 
sled  to  give  an  inch  of  the  road  to  a  lighter. vehicle.  In  this 
case,  a  sled,  on  its  way  down,  had  forced  an  ascending  cutter 
to  turn  out  into  a  deep  drift,  and  in  attempting  to  regain  the 
track  both  shafts  of  the  latter  had  been  snapped  off.  The  sled 
pursued  its  way,  regardless  of  the  ruin,  and  the  occupants  of 
the  cutter,  a  gentleman,  and  lady,  were  holding  a  consultation 
over  their  misfortune,  when  Woodbury  came  in  sight  of  them. 
As  the  gentleman  leading  his  horse  back  into  the  drift  to  give 
room,  turned  his  face  towards  the  approaching  cutter,  Wood- 
bury  recognized,  projecting  between  ear-lappets  of  fur,  the  cu- 
riously-planted nose,  the  insufficient  lips,  and  the  prominent 
teeth,  Vhich  belonged  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Waldo.  The  recogni- 
tion was  mutual. 

"  My  dear,  it  is  Mr.  Woodbury  I"  the  latter  joyfully  cried, 


80  HANNAH    THUESTON  . 

turning  to  the  muffled  lady.  She  instantly  stood  up  in  tho 
cutter,  threw  back  her  veil,  and  hailed  the  approaching  deliverer : 
"  Help  me,  good  Samaritan  !  The  Levite  has  wrecked  me,  and 
the  Priest  has  enough  to  do,  to  take  care  of  himself !" 

Woodbury  stopped  his  team,  sprang  out,  and  took  a  survey 
of  the-  case.  "  It  is  not  to  be  mended,"  said  he ;  "  you  must 
crowd  yourselves  in  with  me,  and  we  will  drive  on  slowly,  lead- 
ing the  horse." 

"  But  I  have  to  attend  a  funeral  at  Mulligans ville — the  child 
of  one  of  our  members,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  "  and  there  is  no 
time  to  lose.  My  dear,  you  must  go  back  with  Mr.  Wood- 
bury.  Perhaps  he  can  take  the  harness  and  robes.  I  will 
ride  on  to  Van  Horn's,  where  I  can  borrow  a  saddle." 

This  arrangement  was  soon  carried  into  effect.  Mr.  Waldo 
mounted  the  bare-backed  steed,  and  went  off  up  the  hill,  thump- 
ing his  heels  against  the  animal's  sides.  The  broken  shafts 
were  placed  in  the  cutter,  which  was  left  "  to  be  called  for," 
and  Mrs.  Waldo  took  her  seat  beside  Woodbury.  She  had 
set  out  to  attend  the  funeral,  as  a  duty  enjoined  by  her  hus- 
band's office,  and  was  not  displeased  to  escape  without  damage 
to  her  conscience. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  got  back,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  said,  as 
they  descended  the  hill.  "  We  like  to  have  our  friends  about 
us,  in  the  winter,  and  I  assure  you,  you've  been  missed." 

"  It'  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  I  have  already  a  place  among 
you,"  he  answered.  *'  What  is  the  last  piece  of  gossip  ?  Is 
the  Great  Sewing-Union  still  in  existence  ?" 

"  Not  quite  on  the  old  foundation.  Our  fair  has  been  held 
— by  the  bye,  there  I  missed  you.  I  fully  depended  on  selling 
you  a  quantity  of  articles.  The  Anti-Slavery  Fair  is  over,  too ; 
but  they  are  still  working  for  the  Jutnapore  Mission,  as  there 
is  a  chance  of  sending  the  articles  direct  to  Madras,  before 
long  ;  and  so  the  most  of  us  still  attend,  and  either  assist  them 
or  take  our  own  private  sewing  with  us." 

"  Where  do  you  next  meet  ?" 

"  Ah,  that's  our  principal  trouble.     We  have  exhausted  all 


A    STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  81 

the  available  houses,  besides  going  twice  to  Bue's  and  Wilkin- 
son's. Our  parsonage  is  so  small — a  mere  pigeon-house — that 
it's  out  of  the  question.  I  wish  I  had  some  of  your  empty 
rooms  at  Lakeside.  Now,  there's  an  idea !  Capital !  Confess 
that  my  weak  feminine  brain  is  good  at  resorts !" 

"  What  is  it-?"  Woodbury  asked. 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  You  shall  entertain  the  Sewing-Union 
one  evening.  We  will  meet  at  Lakeside  :  it  is  just  the  thing !" 

"  Are  you  serious,  Mrs.  Waldo  ?  I  could  not,  of  course,  be 
so  ungracious  as  to  refuse,  provided  there  is  no  impropriety 
in  compliance.  What  would  Ptolemy  say  to  the  plan  ?" 

"  I'll  take  charge  of  that !"  she  cried.  "  Impropriety  !  Are 
you  not  a  steady,  respectable  Member  of  Society,  I  should  like 
to  know  ?  If  there's  any  thing  set  down  against  you,  we  must 
go  to  Calcutta  to  find  it.  And  we  are  sure  there  are  no  trap- 
doors at  Lakeside,  or  walled-up  skeletons,  or  Blue  Beard  cham- 
bers. Besides,  this  isn't  Mulligansville  or  Anacreon,  and  it  is 
not  necessary  to  be  so  very  straight-laced.  Oh  yes,  it  is  the 
very  thing.  As  for  the  domestic  preparations,  count  on  my 
help,  if  it  is  needed." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  replied,  "  that  Mrs.  Babb  would  resent 
any  interference  with  her  authority.  In  fact,"  he  added, 
laughing,  "  I  am  not  certain  that  it  is  safe  to  decide,  without 
first  consulting  her." 

"  There,  now  !"  rejoined  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  Do  you  remember 
what  I  once  told  you  ?  Yes,  you  bachelors,  who  boast  of 
your  independence  of  woman,  are  the  only  real  slaves  to  the 
sex.  No  wife  is  such  a  tyrant  as  a  housekeeper.  Not  but 
what  Mrs.  Babb  is  a  very  honest,  conscientious,  proper  sort  of 
a  person, — but  she  don't  make  a  home,  Mr.  Woodbury.  You 
should  get  married." 

"That  is  easily  said,  Mrs.  Waldo,"  he  replied,  with  a  laugh 
which  covered,  like  a  luxuriant  summer  vine,  the  entrance  to 
a  sighing  cavern, — "  easily  said,  and  might  be  easily  done,  if 
one  were  allowed  to  choose  a  wife  for  her  domestic  qualities 
valued  at  so  much  per  month." 
4* 


82  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

"Pshaw!"  said  she,  with  assumed  contempt.  "You  are 
not  a  natural  cynic,  and  have  no  right  to  be  single,  at  your 
age,  without  a  good  reason." 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  good  reason,  Mrs.  Waldo.  Few  per- 
sons, I  imagine,  remain  single  from  choice.  I  have  lost  the 
susceptibility  of  my  younger  days,  but  not  the  ideal  of  a  true 
wedded  life.  I  should  not  dare  to  take  the  only  perfect 
woman  in  the  world,  unless  I  could  be  lover  as  well  as  hus- 
band. I  sincerely  wish  my  chances  were  better :  but  would 
you  have  me  choose  one  of  the  shallow,  showy  creatures  I 
have  just  been  visiting,  or  one  of  your  strong-minded  orators, 
here  in  Ptolemy  ?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  understood  both  the  earnest  tone  of  the  speaker, 
and  the  veiled  bitterness  of  his  concluding  words.  She  read 
his  heart  at  a  glance,  thorough  woman  as  she  was,  and  honored 
him  then,  and  forever  thenceforth. 

"  You  must  not  take  my  nonsense  for  more  than  it  is  worth, 
Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  answered  softly.  "  Women  at  my  age, 
when  God  denies  them  children,  take  to  match-making,  in  the 
hope  of  fulfilling  their  mission  by  proxy.  It  is  unselfish  in  us, 
at  least.  But,  bless  me !  here  we  are,  at  the  village.  Remem- 
ber, the  Sewing-Union  meets  at  Lakeside." 

"  As  soon  as  the  Autocrat  Babb  has  spoken,"  said  he,  as  he 
handed  her  out  at  the  Cimmerian  Parsonage,  "  I  will  send 
word,  and  then  the  matter  will  rest  entirely  in  your  hands." 

"  Mine  ?  Oh,  I  am  a  female  General  Jackson — I  take  the 
responsibility !"  she  cried,  gayly,  as  the  cutter  drove  away. 

Woodbury,  welcomed  at  the  gate  of  Lakeside  by  the  cheery 
face  of  Bute  Wilson,  determined  to  broach  the  subject  at  once 
to  the  housekeeper.  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  was  glad  to  see 
him  again,  but  no  expression  thereof  manifested  itself  in  her 
countenance  and  words.  Wiping  her  bony  right-hand  on  her 
apron — she  had  been  dusting  the  rooms,  after  sweeping — she 
took  the  one  he  offered,  saying :  "  How's  your  health,  Sir  ?" 
and  then  added :  "  I  s'pose  you've  had  a  mighty  fine  time, 
While  you  was  away  ?" 


A    STOUT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  83 

"  Not  so  fine  but  that  I'm  glad  to  get  home  again,"  he 
answered.  The  word  u  home"  satisfied  Mrs.  Babb's  sense  of 
justice.  His  sister,  she  was  sure,  was  not  the  housekeeper 
she  herself  was,  and  it  was  only  right  that  he  should  see  and 
acknowledge  the  fact. 

"  I  want  your  advice,  Mrs.  Babb,"  Woodbury  continued. 
"  The  Sewing-Union  propose  to  meet  here,  one  evening. 
They  have  gone  the  round  of  all  the  large  houses  in  Ptolemy, 
and  there  seems  to  be  no  other  place  left.  Since  I  have 
settled  in  Lakeside,  I  must  be  neighborly,  you  know.  Could 
we  manage  to  entertain  them  ?" 

"  Well — comin'  so  suddent,  like,  I  don't  hardly  know  what 
to  think.  Things  has  been  quiet  here  for  a  long  time :"  the 
housekeeper  grimly  remarked,  with  a  wheezy  sigh. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Woodbury ;  "  and  of  course  you  must 
have  help." 

"  No !"  she  exclaimed,  with  energy,  "  I  don't  want  no  help — 
leastways  only  Melindy.  The  rooms  must  be  put  to  rights — 
not  but  what  they're  as  good  as  Mrs.  Bue's  any  day ;  and 
there'll  be  supper  for  a  matter  o'  twenty ;  and  cakes  and 
things.  When  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"  Next  Friday,  I  presume  ;  but  can  you  get  along  without 
more  assistance?" 

"  'Taint  every  one  that  would  do  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Babb, 
"There's  sich  a  settin'  to  rights,  afterwards.  But  I  can't  have 
strange  help  mixin'  in,  and  things  goin'  wrong,  and  me  to  have 
the  credit  of  it.  Melindy's  used  to  my  ways,  and  there's  not 
many  others  that  knows  what  housekeepin'  is.  Sick  a,  mess  as 
some  people  makes  of  it !" 

Secretly,  Mrs.  Babb  was  well  pleased  at  the  opportunity  of 
publicly  displaying  her  abilities,  but  it  was  not  in  her  nature 
to  do  any  thing  out  of  the  regular  course  of  her  housekeeping, 
without  having  it  understood  that  she  was  making  a  great 
sacrifice.  She  was  not  so  unreasonable  as  to  set  herself  up  for 
an  independent  power,  but  she  stoutly  demanded  and  main- 
tained the  rights  of  a  belligerent.  This  point  having  once 


84  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

been  conceded,  however,  she  exhibited  a  wonderful  energy  in 
making  the  necessary  preparations. 

Thanks  to  Mrs.  Waldo,  all  Ptolemy  soon  knew  of  the  ar- 
rangement, and,  as  the  invitation  was  general,  nearly  every- 
body decided  to  accept  it.  Few  persons  had  visited  Lakeside 
since  Mrs.  Dennison's  funeral,  and  there  was  some  curiosity 
to  know  what  changes  had  been  made  by  the  new  owner. 
Besides,  the  sleighing  was  superb,  and  the  moon  nearly  full. 
The  ladies  connected  with  the  Sewing-Union  were  delighted 
with  the  prospect,  and  even  Hannah  Thurston,  finding  that 
her  absence  would  be  the  only  exception  and  might  thus  seem 
intentional,  was  constrained  to  accompany  them.  She  had 
seen  Woodbury  but  once  since  their  rencontre  at  Merryfield's, 
and  his  presence  was  both  unpleasant  and  embarrassing  to  hsr. 
But  the  Merryfields,  who  took  a  special  pride  in  her  abilities, 
cherished  the  hope  that  she  would  yet  convert  him  to  the  true 
faith,  and  went  to  the  trouble  of  driving  to  Ptolemy  in  order 
to  furnish  her  with  a  conveyance. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  guests  began  to  arrive.  Bute, 
aided  by  his  man  Patrick,  met  them  at  the  gate,  and,  after  a 
hearty  greeting  (for  he  knew  everybody),  took  the  horses  and 
cutters  in  charge.  Woodbury,  assuming  the  character  of  host 
according  to  Ptolemaic  ideas,  appeared  at  the  door,  with  Mrs. 
Babb,  rigid  in  black  bombazine,  three  paces  in  his  rear.  The 
latter  received  the  ladies  with  frigid  courtesy,  conducted  them 
up-stairs  to  the  best  bedroom,  and  issued  the  command  to 
each  of  them,  in  turn :  "  lay  off  your  Things !"  Their 
curiosity  failed  to  detect  any  thing  incomplete  or  unusual  in 
the  appointments  of  the  chamber.  The  furniture  was  of  the 
Dennison  period,  and  Mrs.  Fortitude  had  taken  care  that  no 
fault  should  be  found  with  the  toilet  arrangements.  Miss 
Eliza  Clancy  had  indeed  whispered  to  Miss  Ruhaney  Good- 
win :  "  Well,  I  think  they  might  have  some  lavender,  or  bay- 
water,  for  us,"— but  the  latter  immediately  responded  with 
a  warning  "sh!"  and  drew  from  her  work-bag  a  small 
oiled-silk  package,  which  she  unfolded,  producing  therefrom  a 


A   STOET   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  85 

diminutive  bit  of  sponge,  saturated  with  a  mild  extract  of 
lemon  verbena.  "  Here,1'  she  said,  offering  it  to  the  other 
spinster,  "  I  always  take  care  to  be  pervidecl." 

The  spacious  parlor  at  Lakeside  gradually  filled  with 
workers  for  the  Mission  Fund.  Mrs.  Waldo  was  among  the 
earliest  arrivals,  and  took  command,  by  right  of  her  undis- 
puted social  talent.  She  became  absolute  mistress  for  the 
time,  having,  by  skilful  management,  propitiated  Mrs.  Babb, 
and  fastened  her  in  her  true  place,  at  the  outset,  by  adaman- 
tine chains  of  courtesy  and  assumed  respect.  She  felt  herself, 
therefore,  in  her  true  element,  and  distributed  her  subjects 
with  such  tact,  picking  up  and  giving  into  the  right  hands  the 
threads  of  conversation,  perceiving  and  suppressing  petty 
jealousies  in  advance,  and  laughing  away  the  awkwardness  or 
timidity  of  others,  that  Woodbury  could  not  help  saying  to 
himself:  "What  a  queen  of  the  salons  this  woman  would 
have  made!"  It  was, a  matter  of  conscience  with  her,  as  he 
perhaps  did  not  know,  that  the  occasion  should  be  agreeable, 
not  only  to  the  company,  but  also  to  the  host.  She  was  re- 
sponsible for  its  occurrence,  and  she  felt  that  its  success  would 
open  Lakeside  to  the  use  of  Ptolemy  society. 

There  was  also  little  in  the  principal  parlor  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  guests.  The  floor  was  still  covered  by  the  old 
Brussels  carpet,  with  its  colossal  bunches  of  flowers  of  impos- 
sible color  and  form, — the  wonder  of  Ptolemy,  when  it  was 
new.  There  were  the  same  old-fashioned  chairs,  and  deep 
sofas  with  chintz  covers :  and  the  portraits  of  Mrs.  Dennison, 
and  her  son  Henry,  as  a  boy  of  twelve,  with  his  hand  upon  the 
head  of  a  Newfoundland  dog,  looked  down  from  the  walls. 
Woodbury  had  only  added  engravings  of  the  Madonna  di  San 
Sisto  and  the  Transfiguration,  neither  of  which  was  greatly  ad- 
mired by  the  visitors.  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue,  pausing  a  moment 
to  inspect  the  former,  said  of  the  Holy  Child  :  "Why,  it  looks 
just  like  my  little  Addy,  when  she's  got  her  clothes  off!" 

In  the  sitting-room  were  Landseer's  "  Challenge"  and  Ary 
Scheffer's  "Francesca  da  Rimini."  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin 


86  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

turned  suddenly  away  from  the  latter,  with  difficulty  suppres- 
sing an  exclamation.  "Did  you  ever?"  said  she  to  Miss  Eliza 
Clancy;  "it  isn't  right  to  have'such  pictures  hung  up." 

"  Hush  !"  answered  Miss  Eliza,  "it  may  be  from  Scripture." 

Miss  Ruhaney  now  contemplated  the  picture  without  hesita- 
tion. It  was  a  proof  before  lettering.  "  What  can  it  be,  then?" 
she  asked. 

"Well — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  Jephthah  and  his 
daughter.  They  both  look  so  sorrowful." 

The  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles  and  his  wife  presently  arrived. 
They  were  both  amiable,  honest  persons,  who  enjoyed  their 
importance  in  the  community,  without  seeming  to  assume  it. 
The  former  was,  perhaps,  a  little  over-cautious  lest  he  should 
forget  the  strict  line  of  conduct  which  had  been  prescribed  for 
him  as  a  theological  student.  He  felt  that  his  duty  properly 
required  him  to  investigate  Mr.  Woodbury's  religious  views, 
before  thus  appearing  to  endorse  them  by  his  presence  at 
Lakeside ;  but  he  had  not  courage  to  break  the  dignified  re- 
serve which  the  latter  maintained,  and  was  obliged  to  satisfy 
his  conscience  with  the  fact  that  Woodbury  had  twice  at- 
tended his  church.  Between  Mr.  Waldo  and  himself  there 
was  now  a  very  cordial  relation.  They  had  even  cautiously 
discussed  the  differences  between  them,  and  had  in  this  way 
learned,  at  least,  to  respect  each  other's  sincerity. 

The  last  of  all  the  arrivals  before  tea  was  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mer- 
ryfield,  with  Hannah  Thurston.  The  latter  came,  as  already 
mentioned,  with  great  reluctance.  She  would  rather  have 
faced  an  unfriendly  audience  than  the  courteous  and  self-pos- 
sessed host  who  came  to  the  door  to  receive  her.  He  op- 
pressed her,  not  only  with  a  sense  of  power,  but  of  power 
controlled  and  directed  by  some  cool  faculty  in  the  brain, 
which  she  felt  she  did  not  possess.  In  herself,  whatever  of 
intellectual  force-  she  recognized,  was  developed  through  the 
excitement  of  her  feelings  and  sympathies.  His  personality, 
it  seemed  to  her,  was  antagonistic  to  her  own,  and  the  knowl- 
edge gave  her  a  singular  sense  of  pain.  She  was  woman 


A   STOUT   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  87 

enough  not  to  tolerate  a  difference  of  this  kind  without  a 
struggle. 

u  Thank  you  for  coming,  Miss  Thurston,"  said  Woodbury, 
as  he  frankly  offered  his  hand.  "  I  should  not  like  any  mem- 
ber of  the  Union  to  slight  my  first  attempt  to  entertain  it.  I 
am  glad  to  welcome  you  to  Lakeside." 

Hannah  Thurston  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  with  an  effort  that 
brought  a  fleeting  flush  to  her  face.  But  she  met  his  gaze, 
steadily.  "  We  owe  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  said  she, 
"  that  Lakeside  still  belongs  to  our  Ptolemy  community.  I 
confess  I  should  not  like  to  see  so  pleasant  a  spot  isolated,  or 
— what  the  people  of  Ptolemy  would  consider  much  worse," 
she  added,  smiling — "  attached  to  Anacreon." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  he  answered,  as  he  transferred  her  to  the  charge 
of  Mrs.  Babb.  "  I  have  become  a  thorough  Ptolemaic,  or  a 
Ptolemystic,  or  whatever  the  proper  term  may  be.  I  hurl  defi- 
ance across  the  hill  to  Anacreon,  and  I  turn  my  back  on  the 
south-east  wind,  when  it  blows  from  Mulligansville." 

"  Come,  come !  We  won't  be  satirized  ;"  said  Mrs.  Waldo, 
who  was  passing  through  the  hall.  "  Hannah,  you  are  just  in 
time.  There  are  five  of  the  Mission  Fund  sitting  together,  and 
I  want  their  ranks  broken.  Mr.  Woodbury,  there  will  be  no 
more  arrivals  before  tea ;  give  me  your  assistance." 

"  Who  is  the  tyrant  now?"  he  asked. 

"Woman,  ahvays,  in  one  shape  or  other,"  she  answered, 
leading  the  way  into  the  parlor. 

After  the  very  substantial  tea  which  Mrs.  Babb  had  pre- 
pared, and  to  which,  it  must  be  whispered,  the  guests  did 
ample  justice,  there  was  a  pause  in  the  labors  of  the  Union. 
The  articles  intended  for  the  Jutnapore  Mission  were  nearly 
completed,  in  fact,  and  Mrs.  Waldo's  exertions  had  promoted 
a  genial  flow  of  conversation,  which  did  not  require  the  aid  of 
the  suggestive  needle.  The  guests  gathered  in  groups,  chat- 
ting at  the  windows,  looking  out  on  the  gray,  twilight  land- 
scape, or  watching  the  approach  of  cutters  from  Ptolemy,  as 
they  emerged  from  the  trees  along  Roaring  Brook.  Mr. 


88  HANNAH    THUESTON  I 

Hamilton  Bute  and  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder  were  the  first  to 
make  their  appearance,  not  much  in  advance,  however,  of  the 
crowd  of  ambitious  young  gentlemen.  Many  of  the  latter  were 
personally  unknown  to  Woodbury,  but  this  was  not  the  least 
embarrassment  to  them.  They  gave  him  a  rapid  salutation, 
since  it  was  not  to  be  avoided,  and  hurried  in  to  secure  advan- 
tageous positions  among  the  ladies.  Seth  Wattles  not  only 
came,  to  enjoy  a  hospitality  based,  as  he  had  hinted,  on  the 
"accursed  opium  traffic,"  but  brought  with  him  a  stranger 
from  Ptolemy,  a  Mr.  Grindle,  somewhat  known  as  a  lecturer 
on  Temperance. 

The  rooms  were  soon  filled  and  Woodbury  was  also  obliged 
to  throw  open  his  library,  into  which  the  elderly  gentlemen 
withdrew,  with  the  exception  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Styles.  Mr. 
Waldo  relished  a  good  story,  even  if  the  point  was  somewhat 
coarse,  and  the  Hon.  Zeno  had  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  such. 
Mr.  BUG,  notwithstanding  he  felt  bound  to  utter  an  occasional 
mild  protest,  always  managed  to  be  on  hand,  and  often,  in  his 
great  innocence,  suggested  the  very  thing  which  he  so  evi- 
dently wished  to  avoid.  If  the  conversation  had  been  for  some 
timo  rather  serious  and  heavy,  he  would  say :  "  Well,  Mr. 
Harder,  I  am  glad  we  shall  have  none  of  your  wicked  stories 
to-night" — a  provocation  to  which  the  Hon.  Zeno  always  re- 
sponded by  giving  one. 

Bute  Wilson,  after  seeing  that  the  horses  were  properly 
attended  to,  washed  his  hands,  brushed  his  hair  carefully,  and 
put  on  his  Sunday  frock-coat.  Miss  Caroline  Dilworth  was 
one  of  the  company,  but  he  had  been  contented  with  an  occa- 
sional glimpse  of  her  through  the  window,  until  the  arrival  of 
Seth  Watties.  The  care  of  the  fires  in  the.  grates,  the  lamps, 
and  other  arrangements  of  the  evening,  gave  him  sufficient 
opportunity  to  mix  with  the  company,  and  watch  both  his 
sweetheart  and  his  presumed  rival,  without  appearing  to  do  so. 
"Darn  that  blue-gilled  baboon !"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "I 
believe  his  liver's  whiter  than  the  milt  of  a  herrin',  an'  if  you'd 
cut  his  yaller  skin,  he'd  bleed  whey  'stid  o'  blood." 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  89 

Seth  Wattles,  nevertheless,  was  really  guiltless  of  any  designs 
on  the  heart  of  the  little  seamstress.  Like  Jierself,  he  was  am- 
bitious of  high  game,  and,  in  the  dreams  of  his  colossal  con- 
ceit, looked  forward  with  much  confidence  to  the  hour  when 
Hannah  Thurston  should  take  his  name,  or  he  hers :  he  was 
prepared  for  either  contingency.  To  this  end  he  assumed  a 
tender,  languishing  air,  and  talked  of  Love,  and  A  Mission, 
and  The  Duality  of  The  Soul,  in  a  manner  which,  in  a  more 
cultivated  society,  would  have  rendered  him  intolerable.  He 
had  a  habit  of  placing  his  hand  on  the  arm  or  shoulder  of  the 
person  with  whom  he  was  conversing,  and  there  were  in 
Ptolemy  women  silly  enough  to  be  pleased  by  these  tokens  of 
familiarity.  Hannah  Thurston,  though  entirely  harmonizing 
with  him  as  a  reformer,  and  therefore  friendly  and  forbearing 
in  her  intercourse,  felt  a  natural  repugnance  towards  him 
which  she  could  not  understand.  Indeed,  the  fact  gave  her 
some  uneasiness.  "He  is  ugly,"  she  thought;  "and  I  am  so 
weak  as  to  dislike  ugliness — it  must  be  that :"  which  conclu- 
sion, acting  on  her  sensitive  principle  of  justice,  led  her  to 
treat  him  sometimes  with  more  than  necessary  kindness.  Many 
persons,  the  Merry-fields  included,  actually  fancied  that  there 
was  a  growing  attachment  between  them. 

"Miss  Carrie,"  whispered  Bute,  as  he  passed  her  in  the  hall, 
"  Do  you  like  your  lemonade  sweet  ?  We're  goin'  to  bring  it 
in  directly,  and  I'll  git  Mother  Forty  to  make  a  nice  glass  of 
it,  o'  purpose  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Wilson  :  yes,  if  you  please,"  answered  the 
soft,  childish  drawl  and  the  beryl-tinted  eyes,  that  sent  a  thou- 
sand cork-screw  tingles  boring  through  and  through  him. 

Bute  privately  put  six  lumps  of  sugar  into  one  glass,  which 
^he  marked  for  recognition ;  and  then  squeezed  the  last  bitter 
drops  of  a  dozen  lemons  into  another. 

The  latter  was  for  Seth  Wattles. 


90  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WHAT   HAPPENED   DURING   THE   EVENING. 

WOODBUKY  had  prudently  left  the  preparations  for  the  re- 
freshment of  his  numerous  guests  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Babb, 
who,  aided  by  the  sable  Melinda,  had  produced  an  immense 
supply  of  her  most  admired  pastry.  By  borrowing  freezers 
from  the  confectioner  in  Ptolemy,  and  employing  Patrick  to  do 
the  heavy  churning,  she  had  also  succeeded  in  furnishing  very 
tolerable  ices.  The  entertainment  was  considered  to  be — and, 
for  country  means,  really  was — sumptuous.  Nevertheless,  the 
housekeeper  was  profuse  in  her  apologies,  receiving  the  abun- 
dant praises  of  her  guests  with  outward  grimness  and  secret 
satisfaction. 

u  Try  these  crullers,"  she  would  say :  "  pVaps  you'll  find 
'em  better  'n  the  jumbles,  though  I'm  afeard  they  a'n't  hardly 
done  enough.  But  you'll  have  to  put  up  with  sich  as  there 
is." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Babb  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue,  "  don't 
say  that !  Nobody  bakes  as  nice  as  you  do.  I  wish  you'd 
give  me  the  receipt  for  the  jumbles." 

"  You're  welcome  to  it,  if  you  like  'em,  I'm  sure.  But  it 
depends  on  the  seasonin',  and  I  don't  never  know  if  they're 
goin'  to  come  out  right." 

"  Mrs.  Babb,"  said  Woodbury,  coming  up  at  this  moment, 
"  will  you  please  get  a  bottle  of  Sherry.  The  gentlemen,  I  see, 
have  nothing  but  lemonade." 

"I  told  Bute  to  git  some  for  them  as  likes  it." 

"A-hm!"  Mrs.  Bue  ejaculated,  as  the  housekeeper  de- 
parted to  look  after  the  wine  ;  "  I  think,  Mr.  Woodbury,  they 
don't  take  any  thing  more." 


A    STORY    OP    AMERICAN   LIFE.  91 

"  Let  me  give  them  a  chance,  Mrs.  Bue.  Ah,  here  comes 
Bute,  with  the  glasses.  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  ?"  offering 
her  one  of  the  two  which  he  had  taken. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  no — not  for  any  thing !"  she  exclaimed,  look- 
ing a  little  frightened. 

"  Mr.  Bue,"  said  Woodbury,  turning  around  to  that  gentle- 
man, "  as  Mrs.  Bue  refuses  to  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  me, 
you  must  be  her  substitute." 

"  Thank  you,  I'd — I'd  rather  not,  this  evening,"  said  Mr. 
Bue,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

There  was  an  embarrassing  pause.  Woodbury,  looking 
around,  perceived  that  Bute  had  already  offered  his  tray  to  the 
other  gentlemen,  and  that  none  of  the  glasses  upon  it  had  been 
taken.  He  was  about  to  replace  his  own  without  drinking, 
when  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder  said :  "  Allow  me  the  pleasure, 
Sir !"  and  helped  himself.  At  the  same  moment  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Waldo,  in  obedience  to  a  glance  from  his  wife,  followed  his 
example. 

"  I  have  not  tasted  wine  for  some  years,"  said  the  latter, 
"  but  I  have  no  objection  to  its  rational  use.  I  have  always 
considered  it  sanctioned,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mr.  Styles, 
"  by  the  Miracle  of  Cana." 

Mr.  Styles  slightly  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Your  good  health,  Sir  !"  said  the  Hon.  Zeno,  as  he  emptied 
his  glass. 

"Health?"  somebody  echoed,  in  a  loud,  contemptuous 
whisper. 

Woodbury  bowed  and  drank.  As  he  was  replacing  his 
glass,  Mr.  Grindle,  who  had  been  waiting  for  the  consumma- 
tion of  the  iniquity,  suddenly  stepped  forward.  Mr.. Grindle 
was  a  thin,  brown  individual,  with  a  long,  twisted  nose,  and  a 
voice  which  acquired  additional  shrillness  from  the  fact  of  its 
appearing  to  proceed  entirely  from  the  said  nose.  He  had  oc- 
casionally lectured  in  Ptolemy,  and  was  known, — by  sight,  at 
least, — to  all  the  company.  Woodbury,  however,  was  quite 
ignorant  of  the  man  and  every  thing  concerning  him. 


92  HANNAH   THTJESTON  : 

"I  am  surprised,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grindle,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy,  "  that  a  man  who  has  any  regard  for  his 
reputation  will  set  such  a  pernicious  example." 

"  To  what  do  you  refer  ?"  asked  Woodbury,  uncertain 
whether  it  was  he  who  was  addressed. 

"  To  that  /"  replied  the  warning  prophet,  pointing  to  the 
empty  wine-glass — "the  source  of  nine-tenths  of  all  the  sin 
and  suffering  in  the  world  !" 

"  I  think-  you  would  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  Sherry 
enough  to  produce  such  a  result,"  Woodbury  answered, 
beginning  to  understand  the  man. 

"  Sherry,  or  Champagne,  or  Heidsick  !"  retorted  Mr.  Grin- 
die,  raising  his  voice :  "  it's  all  the  same — all  different  forms 
of  Rum,  and  different  degrees  of  intemperance !" 

Woodbury's  brown  eyes  flashed  a  little,  but  he  answered 
coolly  and  sternly:  "As  you  say,  Sir,  there  are  various  forms 
of  intemperance,  and  I  have  too  much  respect  for  my  guests 
to  allow  that  any  of  them  should  be  exhibited  here.  Mrs. 
Waldo,"  he  continued,  turning  his  back  on  the  lecturer,  and 
suddenly  changing  his  tone,  "  did  you  not  propose  that  we 
should  have  some  music  ?" 

"  I  have  both  persuaded  and  commanded,"  she  replied,  "  but 
singers,  I  have  found,  are  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  They  huddle 
together  and  hesitate,  until  some  one  takes  the  lead,  and  then 
they  all  follow,  even  if  it's  over  your  head.  You  must  be 
bell-wether,  after  all." 

"Anything  for  harmony,"  he  answered,  gay  ly.  "Ah!  I 
have  it — a  good  old  song,  with  which  none  of  our  friends  can 
find  fault." 

And  he  sang,  in  his  mellow  voice,  with  an  amused  air,  which 
Mrs.  Waldo  understood  and  heartily  enjoyed  :  "  Drink  to  me 
only  with  thine  eyes" 

Mr.  Grindle,  however,  turned  to  Seth  Wattles  and  said, 
sneeringly :  "  It's  easy  enough  to  shirk  an  argument  you  can't 
answer."  A  fortnight  afterwards  he  exploited  the  incident  in 
a  lecture  which  he  gave  before  the  Sons  of  Temperance,  at 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  93 

Ptolemy.  Commencing  with  the  cheap  groggeries,  he  gradu- 
ally rose  in  his  attacks  until  he  reached  the  men  of  wealth  and 
education.  "  There  are  some  of  these  in  our  neighborhood," 
he  said  :  "  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  mention  names — men 
whom  perhaps  we  might  excuse  for  learning  the  habit  of  runi- 
drinking  on  foreign  shores,  where  our  blessed  reform  has  not 
yet  penetrated,  if  they  did  not  bring  it  here  with  them,  to  cor- 
rupt and  destroy  our  own  citizens,  ^fce  unto  those  men,  say  I! 
Better  that  an  ocean  of  fire  had  rolled  between  those  distant 
shores  of  delusion  and  debauchery  and  this  redeemed  land,  so 
that  they  could  not  have  returned!  Better  that  they  had  per- 
ished under  the  maddening  influence  of  the  bowl  that  stingeth 
like  an  adder,  before  coming  here  to  add  fresh  hecatombs  to  the 
Jaws  of  the  Monster!"  Of  course,  everybody  in  Ptolemy 
knew  who  was  meant,  and  sympathizing  friends  soon  carried 
the  report  to  Lakeside. 

The  unpleasant  episode  was  soon  forgotten,  or,  from  a  natural 
sense  of  propriety,  no  longer  commented  upon.  Even  the 
strongest  advocates  of  Temperance  present  felt  mortified  by 
Mr.  Grin  die's  vulgarity.  Hannah  Thurston,  among  others, 
was  greatly  pained,  yet,  for  the  first  time,  admired  Woo<l- 
bury's  coolness  and  self-possession,  in  the  relief  which  it  gave 
her.  She  wished  for  an  opportunity  to  show  him,  by  her  man- 
ner, a  respect  which  might  in  some  degree  counterbalance  the 
recent  rudeness,  and  such  an  opportunity  soon  occurred. 

She  was  standing  before  the  picture  of  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
lost  in  the  contemplation  of  the  wonderful  grace  and  pathos 
of  the  floating  figures,  when  Woodbury,  approaching  her,  said : 

"I  am  glad  that  you  admire  it,  Miss  Thurston.  The  .pic- 
ture is  a  great  favorite  with  me." 

"The  subject  is  from  Dante,  is  it  not?"  she  asked  ;  "  that 
figure  is  he,  I  think." 

Woodbury  was  agreeably  surprised  at  her  perception,  espe- 
cially as  she  did  not  say  "Dant"  which  he  might  possibly  have 
expected.  He  explained  the  engraving,  and  found  that  she 
recollected  the  story,  having  read  Gary's  translation. 


94  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

"  Since  you  are  so  fond  of  pictures,  Miss  Thurston,"  said 
he,  "let  me  show  you  another  favorite  of  mine.  Here,  in  the 
library." 

Taking  a  large  portfolio  from  its  rack,  he  opened  it  on  .the 
table,  under  a  swinging  lamp.  There  were  views  of  Indian 
scenery — strange  temples,  rising  amid  plumy  tufts  of  palm ; 
elephants  and  tigers  grappling  in  jungles  of  gigantic  grass; 
pillared  banians,  with  gray-bearded  fakirs  sitting  in  the 
shade,  and  long  ghauts  descending  to  the  Ganges.  The  glimp- 
ses she  caught,  as  he  turned  the  leaves,  took  away  her  breath 
with  sudden  delight. 

At  last  he  found  the  plate  he  was  seeking,  and  laid  it  be- 
fore her.  It  was  a  tropical  brake,  a  tangle  of  mimosa-trees, 
with  their  feathery  fronds  and  balls  of  golden  down,  among 
which  grew  passion-flowers  and  other  strange,  luxuriant  vines. 
In  the  midst  of  the  cool,  odorous  darkness,  stood  a  young  In- 
dian girl  of  wonderful  beauty,  with  languishing,  almond-shaped 
eyes,  and  some  gorgeous  unknown  blossom  drooping  from 
her  night-black  hair.  Her  only  garment,  of  plaited  grass  or 
rushes,  was  bound  across  the  hips,  leaving  the  lovely  form  bare 
in  its  unconscious  purity.  One  hand,  listlessly  hanging  among 
the  mimosa  leaves,  which  gradually  folded  up  and  bent  away 
where  she  touched  them,  seemed  to  seek  the  head  of  a  doe, 
thrust  out  from  the  foliage  to  meet  it.  At  .the  bottom  of  the 
picture  a  fawn  forced  its  way  through  the  tangled  greenery. 
The  girl,  in  her  dusky  beauty,  seemed  a  dryad  of  the  sump- 
tuous forest — the  child  of  summer,  and  perfume,  and  rank, 
magnificent  bloom. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful !"  exclaimed  Hannah  Thurston,  at  once 
impressed  by  the  sentiment  of  the  picture :  "  It  is  like  the  scent 
of  the  tube  rose." 

"Ah,  you  comprehend  it!"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  surprised 
and  pleased  :  "  do  you  know  the  subject  ?" 

"Not  at  all,  but  it  scarcely  needs  an  explanation." 

"  Have  you  ever  heard  of  Kalidasa,  the  Hindoo  poet  ?" 

" I  have  not,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  she  answered;    "  I  have 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  95 

sometimes  found  references  to  the  old  Sanscrit  literature  in 
modern  authors,  but  that  is  all  I  know  about  it.1' 

"  My  own  knowledge  has  been  derived  entirely  from  trans- 
lations," said  he,  "  and  I  confess  that  this  picture  was  the  cause 
of  my  acquaintance  with  Kalidasa.  I  never  had  patience  to 
read  their  interminable  epics.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  story  of 
Sakontala,  this  lovely  creature  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  will  be  so  kind :  ^it  must  be  beautiful." 

Woodbury  then  gave  her  a  brief  outline  of  the  drama,  to 
which  she  listened  with  the  greatest  eagerness  and  delight. 
At  the  close,  he  said : 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  not  a  copy  of  the  translation  to  offer 
you.  But,  if  you  would  like  to  read  another  work  by  the 
same  poet,  I  think  I  have  the  '  Megha-DutaJ  or  '  Cloud-Mes- 
senger,' somewhere  in  my  library.  It  is  quite  as  beautiful  a 
poem,  though  not  in  the  dramatic  form.  There  are  many  cha- 
racteristic allusions  to  Indian  life,  but  none,  I  think,  that  you 
could  not  understand." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Woodbury.  It  is  not  often  that  I  am 
able  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  new  author,  and  the  pleas- 
ure is  all  the  greater.  I  know  very  little  of  literature  outside 
of  the  English  language,  and  this  seems  like  the  discovery  of 
a  new  world  in  the  Past.  India  is  so  far-off  and  unreal." 

"  Not  to  me,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  "  We  are  crea- 
tures of  habit  to  a  greater  extent  than  the  most  of  us  guess. 
If  you  could  now  be  transplanted  to  India,  in  less  than  five 
years  you  would  begin  to  imagine  that  you  were  born  undei 
the  lotus-leaf,  and  that  this  life  in  Ptolemy  had  occurred  only 
in  the  dreams  of  a  tropical  noonday." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  said  she,  with  earnestness.  "  We  cannot  so 
forget  the  duties  imposed  upon  us — we  cannot  lose  sight  of 
our  share  in  the  great  work  intrusted  to  our  hands.  Right, 
aud  Justice,  and  Conscience,  are  everywhere  the  same !" 

44  Certainly,  as  absolute  principles.  But  our  individual  duties 
vary  with  every  change  in  our  lives,  and  our  individual  action 
is  affected,  in  spite  of  ourselves,  by  the  influences  of  the  exter- 


96  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

nal  world.  Are  you  not — to  take  the  simplest  evidence  of  this 
fact — cheerful  and  hopeful  on  some  days,  desponding  and 
irresolute  on  others,  without  conscious  reason  ?  And  can  you 
not  imagine  moods  of  Nature  which  would  permanently  color 
your  own  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  felt  that  there  was  a  germ  of  harsh,  ma- 
terial truth  in  his  words,  beside  which  her  aspirations  lost 
somewhat  of  their  glow.  Again  she  was  conscious  of  a  pain- 
ful, unwelcome  sense  of  repulsion.  "  Is  there  no  faith  ?"  she 
asked  herself;  "  are  there  no  lofty  human  impulses,  under  this 
ripe  intelligence  ?"  The  soft,  liquid  lustre  faded  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  the  eager,  animated  expression  of  her  face  passed 
away  like  the  sunshine  from  a  cloud,  leaving  it  cold  and  gray. 

Woodbury,  seeing  Miss  Eliza-  Clancy,  in  company  with 
other  ladies,  entering  the  library,  tied  up  the  portfolio  and 
replaced  it  in  its  rack.  Mrs.  Waldo,  pressing  forward  at  the 
same  time,  noticed  upon  the  table  a  Chinese  joss-stick,  in  its 
lackered  boat.  She  was  not  a  woman  to  disguise  or  restrain 
an  ordinary  curiosity. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  this  ?"  she  asked,  taking  the  boat  in 
her  hands.  The  other  ladies  clustered  around,  inspecting  it 
from  all  sides,  but  unable  to  guess  its  use. 

"  Now,"  said  Woodbury,  laughing,  "  I  have  half  a  mind  to 
torment  you  a  little.  You  have  all  read  the  Arabian  Nights  ? 
Well,  this  is  an  instrument  of  enchantment." 

"Enchantment!  Do  the  Indian  jugglers  use  it?"  asked 
Mrs.  Waldo. 

" ./use  it,"  said  he.  "This  rod,  as  it  appears  to  be,  is  made 
of  a  mysterious  compound.  It  has  been  burned  at  one  end, 
you  see.  When  lighted,  it  is  employed  to  communicate  fire 
to  another  magical  substance,  through  which  the  Past  is 
recalled  and  the  Future  made  clear." 

Miss  Clancy  and  the  other  spinsters  opened  their  eyes  wide, 
in  wonderment.  "Provoking!  Tell  us  now!"  cried  Mrs. 
Waldo. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  say,"  he  answered.     "  See,  when  I  light  the 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  97 

end — thus — it  burns  with  a  very  slow  fire.  This  single  piece 
would  burn  for  nearly  a  whole  day." 

"But  what  is  the  other  magical  substance?"  she  asked. 

"  Here  is  a  specimen,"  said  he,  taking  the  lid  from  a  circular 
box  of  carved  bamboo,  and  disclosing  to  their  view  some  cigars. 

The  spinsters  uttered  a  simultaneous  exclamation.  "  Dread- 
ful!" cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  in  affected  horror.  "Hannah,  can 
you  imagine  such  depravity  ?" 

"I  confess,  it  seems  to  me  an  unnatural  taste,"  Hannah 
Thurston  gravely  answered ;  "  but  I  presume  Mr.  Woodbury 
has  some  defence  ready." 

"  Only  this,"  said  he,  with  an  air  between  jest  and  earnest, 
"that  the  habit  is  very  agreeable,  and,  since  it  produces  a 
placid,  equable  tone  of  mind,  highly  favorable  to  reflection, 
might  almost  be  included  in  the  list  of  moral  agencies." 

"  Would  it  not  be  more  satisfactory,"  she  asked,  "  if  you 
could  summon  up  the  same  condition  of  mind,  from  an  earnest 
desire  to  attain  the  Truth,  without  the  help  of  narcotic  drugs  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  he  replied ;  "  but  we  are  all  weak  vessels,  as 
you  know,  Mrs.  Waldo.  I  have  never  yet  encountered  such  a 
thing  as  perfect  harmony  in  the  relations  between  oody  and 
mind.  I  doubt,  even,  if  such  harmony  is  possible,  except  at 
transient  intervals.  For  my  part,  my  temper  is  so  violent  and 
uncontrollable  that  the  natural  sedative  qualities  of  my  mind 
are  insufficient." 

Mrs.  Waldo  laughed  heartily  at  this  assertion,  and  the 
serious  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered.  Hannah  Thurston,  to 
whom  every  fancied  violation  of  the  laws  of  nature  was  more 
or  less  an  enormity,  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  shocked  or 
amused.  She  had  determined  to  carefully  guard  herself  against 
committing  such  an  indiscretion  as  Mr.  Grindle,  but  it  was 
hard  to  be  silent,  when  Duty  demanded  that  she  should  bear 
a  stern  testimony  against  evil  habits. 

"  You  should  be  charitable,  ladies,"  Woodbury  continued, 
"  towards  some  of  our  masculine  habits,  seeing  that  we  do  not 
interfere  with  yours." 


98  HANNAH    THUKSTON  I 

"  Bless  me !  what  habits  have  we,  I  should  like  to  know !" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"A  multitude:  I  don't  know  the  half  of  them.  Crochet- 
work,  and  embroidery,  and  patterns,  for  instance.  Tea  is 
milder  than  tobacco,  I  grant,  but  your  systems  are  more  sensi- 
tive. Then,  there  are  powders  and  perfumes  ;  eau  de  Cologne, 
lavender,  verbena,  heliotrope,  and  what  not — against  all  of 
which  I  have  nothing  to  say,  because  their  odors  are  nearly 
equal  to  that  of  a  fine  Havana  cigar." 

Miss  Eliza  Clancy  and  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin  exchanged 
glances  of  horror.  They  were  both  too  much  embarrassed  to 
reply. 

"  You  understand  our  weaknesses,"  said  Hannah  Thurston, 
with  a  smile  in  which  there  was  some  bitterness. 

"I  do  not  call  them  weaknesses,"  he  answered.  "I  should 
be  glad  if  this  feminine  love  of  color  and  odor  were  more  com- 
mon among  men.  But  there  are  curious  differences  of  taste, 
in  this  respect.  I  have  rarely  experienced  a  more  exquisite 
delight  than  in  riding  through  the  rose-fields  of  Ghazeepore,  at 
the  seasojjpfor  making  attar:  yet  some  persons  cannot  endure 
the  smell  of  a  rose.  Musk,  which  is  a  favorite  perfume  with 
many,  is  to  me  disagreeable.  There  is,  however,  a  physical 
explanation  for  this  habit  of  mine,  which,  perhaps,  you  do  not 
know." 

"  No,"  said  she,  still  gravely,  "  I  know  nothing  but  that  it 
seems  to  me  unnecessary,  and — if  you  will  pardon  me  the 
word — pernicious." 

"  Certainly.  It  is  so,  in  many  cases.  But  some  constitutions 
possess  an  overplus  of  active  nervous  life,  which  suggests  the 
use  of  a  slight  artificial  sedative.  The  peculiar  fascination  of 
smoking  is  not  in  the  taste  of  the  weed,  but  the  sight  of  the 
smoke.  It  is  the  ear  of  corn  which  we  hold  out  to  entice  into 
harness  the  skittish  thoughts  that  are  running  loose.  In  the 
Orient,  men  accomplish  the  same  result  by  a  rosary,  the  beads 
of  which  they  run  through  their  fingers." 

"  Yes  !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Waldo :      "  My  brother  George, 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  99 

who  was  always  at  the  head  of  his  class,  had  a  habit  of  twist- 
ing a  lock  of  his  hair  while  he  was  getting  his  lessons.  It 
stuck  out  from  the  side  of  his  head,  like  a  horn.  When 
mother  had  his  hair  cut,  he  went  down  to  the  foot,  and  he 
never  got  fairly  up  to  head  till  the  horn  grew  out  again." 

"  A  case  in  point,"  said  Woodbury.  "  Now,  you,  ladies, 
have  an  exactly  similar  habit.  Sewing,  I  have  heard,  is  often- 
times this  soothing  agent,  but  knitting  is  the  great  feminine 
narcotic.  In  fact,  women  are  more  dependent  on  these  slight 
helps  to  thought — these  accompaniments  to  conversation — 
than  men.  There  are  few  who  can  sit  still  and  talk  a  whole 
evening,  without  having  their  hands  employed.  Can  you  not 
see  some  connecting  link  between  our  habits  ?" 

The  spinsters  were  silent.  The  speaker  had,  in  fact,  rather 
gone  beyond  their  depth,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Waldo, 
whose  sympathy  with  him  was  so  hearty  and  genial  that  she 
would  have  unhesitatingly  accepted  whatever  sentiments  he 
might  have  chosen  to  declare.  Hannah  Thurston  was  not  a 
little  perplexed.  She  scarcely  knew  whether  he  was  entirely 
sincere,  yet  his  views  were  so  novel  and  unexpected  that  she 
did  not  feel  prepared  to  answer  them.  Before  this  man's  ap- 
pearance in  Ptolemy,  her  course  had  been  chosen.  She  had 
taken  up,  weighed,  and  decided  for  herself  the  questions  of 
life :  a  period  of  unpleasant  doubt  and  hesitation  had  been 
solved  by  the  acceptance  of  (to  her)  great  and  important  theo- 
ries of  reform.  Was  a  new  and  more  difficult  field  of  doubt  to 
be  opened  now  ? — more  difficult,  because  the  distinctions  of  the 
sexes,  which  had  been  almost  bridged  over  in  her  intercourse 
with  reformers  of  kindred  views,  were  suddenly  separated  by 
a  new  gulf,  wider  than  the  old. 

Woodbury,  noticing  something  of  this  perplexity  in  her  coun- 
tenance, continued  in  a  lighter  tone :  "  At  least,  Miss  Thurs- 
ton, I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  a  physical  habit, 
if  you  prefer  to  call  it  so,  is  not  very  important  in  comparison 
with  those  vices  of  character  which  are  equally  common  and 
not  so  easy  to  eradicate.  Is  not  the  use  of  a  '  narcotic  drug* 


100  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  : 

less  objectionable  than  the  systematic  habit  of  avarice,  or  envy, 
or  hypocrisy  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  recollecting  his  generous 
donation  to  the  Cimmerians,  "  and  I,  for  one,  will  not  prohibit 
the  use  of  your  magical  ingredients." 

"  I  cannot  judge  for  you,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  said  Hannah 
Thurston,  feeling  that  some  response  was  expected ;  "  but  have 
you  no  duty  towards  those  who  may  be  encouraged  in  the 
same  habit,  to  their  certain  injury,  by  your  example?" 

"There,  Miss  Thurston,  you  touch  a  question  rather  too 
vague  to  enter  practically  into  one's  life.  After  accepting,  in 
its  fullest  sense,  the  Christian  obligation  of  duty  towards  our 
fellow-men,  there  must  be  a  certain  latitude  allowed  for  indi- 
vidual tastes  and  likings.  Else  we  should  all  be  slaves  to  each 
other's  idiosyncrasies,  and  one  perverted  or  abnormal  trait 
might  suppress  the  healthy  intellectual  needs  of  an  entire  com- 
munity. Must  we  cease  to  talk,  for  example,  because  there  is 
scarcely  a  wholesome  truth  which,  offered  in  a  certain  way, 
might  not  operate  as  poison  to  some  peculiarly  constituted 
mind  ?  Would  you  cease  to  assert  an  earnest  conviction  from 
the  knowledge  that  there  were  persons  unfitted  to  receive 
it?" 

"  I  do  not  think  the  analogy  is  quite  correct,"  she  answered, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "because  you  cannot  escape  the  re- 
cognition of  a  truth,  when  it  has  once  found  access  to  your 
mind.  A  habit,  which  you  can  take  up  or  leave  off  at  will,  is 
a  very  different  thing." 

"  Perhaps,  then,"  said  Woodbury,  who  perceived  by  the 
rising  shade  on  Mrs.  Waldo's  smooth  brow  that  it  was  time  to 
end  the  discussion,  "  I  had  best  plead  guilty,  at  once,  to  being 
something  of  an  Epicurean  in  my  philosophy.  I  am  still  too 
much  of  an  Oriental  to  be  indifferent  to  slight  material  com- 
forts." 

"In  consideration  of  your  hospitality,"  interposed  Mrs. 
Waldo,  brightening  up,  "  the  Sewing  Union  will  not  judge 
you  very  severely.  Is  it  not  so,  Miss  Clancy  ?" 


A    STOBT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  101 

"Well — really — oh  no,  we  are  under  obligations  to  Mr. 
Woodbury ;"  said  the  spinster,  thus  unexpectedly  appealed  to, 
and  scarcely  knowing  how  to  reply. 

"Our  community  have  reason  to  congratulate  themselves, 
Sir,"  here  broke  in  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder,  who  had  entered 
the  library  in  time  to  hear  the  last  words. 

Woodbury  bowed  dryly  and  turned  away. 

Soon  afterwards,  the  sound  of  ^leigh-bells  in  front  of  the 
house  announced  the  first  departures.  The  company  became 
thinner  by  slow  degrees,  however,  for  the  young  gentlemen 
and  ladies  had  found  the  large  parlor  of  Lakeside  full  of  con- 
venient nooks,  which  facilitated  their  habit  of  breaking  into 
little  groups,  and  were  having  such  agreeable  conversation  that 
they  would  probably  have  remained  until  the  small  hours,  but 
for  the  admonitions  of  the  older  folks.  Among  the  earliest  to 
leave  were  the  Merryfields,  taking  with  them  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton  and  Miss  Dil worth,  greatly  to  Bute's  regret.  The  latter, 
unable  to  detect  any  signs  of  peculiar  intimacy  between  Seth 
Wattles  and  the  little  seamstress,  became  so  undisguised  in  his 
fondness»for  her  society  as  to  attract,  at  last,  Mrs.  Babb's  at- 
tention. The  grim  housekeeper  had  a  vulture's  beak  for 
scenting  prey  of  this  kind.  While  she  assisted  Mrs.  Styles  to 
find  her  "  Things,"  in  the  bedroom  up-stairs,  she  steadfastly 
kept  one  eye  on  the  snowy  front  yard,  down  which  the  Merry- 
field  party  were  moving.  Bute,  as  she  anticipated,  was  hover- 
ing around  the  last  and  smallest  of  the  hooded  and  cloaked 
females.  He  put  out  his  arm  two  or  three  times,  as  if  to 
steady  her  steps.  They  had  nearly  reached  the  cutter,  where 
Patrick  was  holding  the  impatient  horses,  when  she  saw 
another  male  figure  hurry  down  the  walk.  There  was  a  sud- 
den tangle  among  the  dim  forms,  and  one  of  them,  she  noticed, 
plunged  full  length  into  a  bank  of  snow. 

Mrs.  Babb  was  so  agitated  by  this  tableau,  that  she  sud- 
denly threw  up  her  hands,  exclaiming :  "  Well,  if  that  don't 
beat  all !" 

Mrs.  Styles,  carefully  muffled  for  the  journey  home,  had  just 


102  HANNAH  THUBSTON: 

turned  to  say  good-night  to  the  housekeeper,  and  stood  petri- 
fied, unable  to  guess  whether  the  exclamation  was  one  of  ad- 
miration or  reproach.  She  slightly  started  back  before  the 
energy  with  which  it  was  uttered. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  how  I  do  forgit  things !"  said  Mrs.  Babb, 
coming  to  her  senses.  "  But  you  know,  Ma'am,  when  you're 
not  used  to  havin'  company  for  a  while,  y'r  head  gits  bothered. 
Tears  to  me  I  haven't  been  so  flustered  for  years.  You're 
sure,  Ma'am,  you're  right  warm.  I  hope  you  won't  take  no 
cold,  goin'  home." 

The  scene  that  transpired  in  front  of  the  house  was  suffi- 
ciently amusing.  Bute  Wilson,  as  deputy-host,  escorted  Miss 
Dilworth  to  the  cutter,  and  was  delighted  that  the  slippery 
path  gave  him  at  least  one  opportunity  to  catch  her  around  the 
waist.  Hearing  rapid  footsteps  behind  him,  he  recognized 
Seth  Wattles  hard  upon  his  track,  and,  as  the  ungainly  tailor 
approached,  jostled  him  so  dexterously  that  he  was  tumbled 
headlong  into  a  pile  of  newly-shovelled  snow. 

"  Ah  !     Who  is  it  ?   Is  he  hurt  ?"  exclaimed  Miss  Dilworth. 

A  smothered  sound,  very  much  resembling  "Dam«  !"  came 
from  the  fallen  individual. 

"Let  me  help  you  up,"  said  Bute;  "you  pitched  ag'in  me 
like  an  ox.  Why,  Seth,  is  it  you?  You  ha' n't  tore  your 
trowsus,  nor  nothin',  have  you  ?" 

Seth,  overwhelmed  before  the  very  eyes  of  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton,  whom  he  was  hastening  to  assist  into  the  cutter,  grum- 
bled :  "  No,  I'm  not  hurt."  Meantime,  Bute  had  said  good- 
night to  the  party,  and  the  cutter  dashed  away. 

"  Well,  it's  one  comfort  that  you  can  always  mend  your  own 
rips,"  the  latter  remarked,  consolingly. 

Finally,  the  last  team  departed,  and  the  sound  of  the  bells 
diminished  into  a  faint,  fairy  sweetness,  as  if  struck  by  the 
frosty  arrows  of  the  starlight  from  the  crystals  of  the  snow. 
Lakeside  returned  to  more  than  its  wonted  silence  and  seclu- 
sion. Woodbury  closed  the  door,  walked  into  his  library, 
lighted  a  cigar  at  the  still  burning  piece  of  joss-stick,  and 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  103 

threw  himself  into  a  chair  before  the  fire.  Now  and  then 
puffing  a  delicate,  expanding  ring  of  smoke  from  his  lips,  he 
watched  it  gradually  break  and  dissolve,  while  reviewing,  in 
his  thoughts,  the  occurrences  of  the  evening.  They  were  not 
wholly  agreeable,  yet  the  least  so — Mr.  Grindle's  rude  attack, — 
was  not  to  be  dismissed  from  the  mind  like  an  ordinary  piece 
of  vulgarity.  It  was  a  type,  he  thought,  of  the  manners  which 
self-constituted  teachers  of  morality  must  necessarily  assume 
in  a  community  where  intellect  is  characterized  by  activity 
rather  than  development.  Society,  in  its  broader  sense,  is  un- 
known to  these  people, — was  his  reflection.  In  the  absence  of 
cultivation,  they  are  ruled  by  popular  ideas:  Reforms  are 
marshalled  in,  as  reserve  corps,  behind  the  ranks  of  Religion, 
and  not  even  the  white  flag  of  a  neutral  is  recognized  in  the 
grand  crusade.  "Join  us  and  establish  your  respectability, 
or  resist  us  and  be  cut  down !"  is  the  cry. 

"  Yet" — he  mused  further — "  is  it  not  something  that,  in  a, 
remote  place  like  this,  Ideas  have  vitality  and  power  ?  Ad- 
mitting that  the  channels  in  which  they  move  are  contracted, 
and  often  lead  in  false  directions,  must  they  not  rest  on  a  basis 
of  honest,  unselfish  aspiration  ?  The  vices  which  spring  from 
intolerance  and  vulgar  egotism  are  not  to  be  lightly  pardoned, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  they  do  not  corrupt  and  demoralize  like 
those  of  the  body.  One  must  respect  the  source,  while  resist- 
ing the  manifestation.  How  much  in  earnest  that  Quaker  girl 
seemed !  It  was  quite  a  serious  lecture  she  gave  me,  about 
such  a  trifle  as  this"  (puffing  an  immense  blue  ring  into  the 
air).  "  But  it  was  worth  taking  it,  to  see  how  she  enjoyed 
the  Sakontala.  She  certainly  possesses  taste,  and  no  doubt 
thinks  better  than  she  talks.  By  the  by,  I  quite  forgot  to 
give  her  the  translation  of  the  Megha-Duta" 

Springing  up,  Woodbury  found  the  volume,  after  some 
search,  and  soon  became  absorbed,  for  the  second  time,  in  its 
pages. 

"  Bute,"  said  Mrs.  Babb,  as  she  wiped  the  dishes,  and  care- 
fully put  away  the  odds  and  ends  of  the  refreshments ;  "  'Pears 


104  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  I 

to  me  you  was  gallivantiu'  round  that  Carrline  Dilwuth,  more 
than's  proper." 

Bute,  standing  with  legs  spread  out  and  back  to  the  fire, 
answered,  as  he  turned  around  to  face  it,  whereby,  if  he 
blushed,  the  evidence  was  covered  by  the  glow  of  the  flame : 
"  Well,  she's  a  gay  little  creetur,  and  'taint  no  harm." 

"  I  dunno  about  that,"  sharply  rejoined  the  housekeeper. 
"  She's  a  cunnin',  conceited  chit,  and  '11  lead  you  by  the  nose. 
You're  just  fool  enough  to  be  captivated  by  a  piece  o'  wax- 
work and  curls.  It  makes  me  sick  to  look  at  'em.  Gals  used 
to  comb  their  hair  when  I  was  young.  I  don't  want  no  sich 
a  thing  as  she  is,  to  dance  at  my  buryin'." 

"  Oh,  Mother  Forty,  don't  you  go  off  about  it !"  said  Bute, 
deprecatingly.  "  I  ain't  married  to  her,  nor  likely  to  be." 

'  "  Married  !  I  guess  not !  Time  enough  for  that  when  7"'m 
dead  and  gone.  Me  that  brought  you  up,  and  to  have  some- 
body put  over  my  head,  and  spendin'  all  your  earnins  on  fine 
clothes,  and  then  hankerin'  after  my  money.  But  it's  locked 
up,  safe  and  tight,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"  I'm  man-grown,  I  reckon,"  said  Bute,  stung  into  resistance 
by  this  attack,  "  and  if  I  choose  to  git  married,  some  day  or 
other,  I  don't  see  who  can  hinder  me.  It's  what  everybody 
else  does,  and  what  you've  done,  yourself." 

Bute  strode  off  to  bed,  and  the  housekeeper,  sitting  down 
before  the  fire,  indulged  in  the  rare  luxury  of  shedding  seve- 
ral tears. 


A   STOUT   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  105 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  WHICH   MR.    WOODBURY   PAYS   AN   UNEXPECTED   VISIT. 

ON  the  following  Monday,  Woodbury  having  occasion  to 
visit  Ptolemy,  took  with  him  the  volume  of  Kalidasa,  intend- 
ing to  leave  it  at  the  cottage  of  the  widow  Thurston.  The 
day  was  mild  and  sunny,  and  the  appearance  of  the  plank 
sidewalk  so  inviting  to  the  feet,  that  he  sent  Bute  forward  to 
the  Ptolemy  House  with  the  cutter,  on  alighting  at  the  cot- 
tage gate. 

The  door  of  the  dwelling,  opening  to  the  north,  was  pro- 
tected by  a  small  outer  vestibule,  into  which  he  stepped, 
designing  simply  to  leave  the  book,  with  his  compliments,  and 
perhaps  a  visiting-card — though  the  latter  was  not  de  rigueur 
in  Ptolemy.  There  was  no  bell-pull ;  he  knocked,  gently  at 
first,  and  then  loudly,  but  no  one  answered.  Turning  the  knob 
of  the  door  he  found  it  open,  and  entered  a  narrow  little  hall, 
in  which  there  was  a  staircase  leading  to  the  upper  story,  and 
two  doors  on  the  left.  Knocking  again  at  the  first  of  these, 
an  answer  presently  came  from  the  further  room,  and  the 
summons,  "  Come  in  !"  was  repeated,  in  a  clear  though  weak 
voice. 

He  no  longer  hesitated,  but  advanced  into  the  sitting-room. 
Friend  Thurston,  sunning  herself  in  her  comfortable  chair, 
looked  around.  A  fleeting  expression  of  surprise  passed  over 
her  face,  but  the  next  moment  she  stretched  out  her  hand, 
saying :  "  How  does  thee  do  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Woodbury,"  said  he,  as  he  took  it  respectfully, 
« I » 

6* 


106  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

"  I  thought  it  must  be  thee,"  she  interrupted.  "  Hannah 
described  thy  looks  to  me.  Won't  thee  sit  down  ?" 

"  I  have  only  called  to  leave  a  book  for  your  daughter,  and 
will  not  disturb  you." 

"Thee  won't  disturb  me.  I  feel  all  the  better  for  a  little 
talk  now  and  then,  and  would  be  glad  if  thee  could  sit  and  chat 
awhile.  Thee's  j  ust  about  the  age  my  little  Richard  would 
have  been  if  he  had  lived." 

Thus  kindly  invited,  Woodbury  took  a  seat.  His  eye  ap- 
preciated, at  a  glance,  the  plainness,  the  taste,  and  the  cozy 
comfort  of  the  apartment,  betraying  in  every  detail,  the  touches 
of  a  woman's  hand.  Friend  Thurston's  face  attracted  and 
interested  him.  In  spite  of  her  years,  it  still  bore  the  traces 
of  former  beauty,  and  its  settled  calm  of  resignation  recalled 
to  his  mind  the  expression  he  remembered  on  that  of  Mrs. 
Dennison.  Her  voice  was  unusually  clear  and  sweet,  and  the 
deliberate  evenness  of  her  enunciation, — so  different  from  the 
sharp,  irregular  tones  of  the  Ptolemy  ladies, — was  most  agree- 
able to  his  ear. 

"Hannah's  gone  out,"  she  resumed  ;  "  but  I  expect  her  back 
presently.  It's  kind  of  thee  to  bring  the  book  for  her.  Thee 
bears  no  malice,  I  see,  that  she  lectured  thee  a  little.  Thee 
must  get  used  to  that,  if  thee  sees  much  of  our  people.  We 
are  called  upon  to  bear  testimony,  in  season  and  out  of  season, 
and  especially  towards  men  of  influence,  like  thee,  whose  re- 
sponsibilities are  the  greater." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  over-estimate  my  influence,"  Woodbury 
replied ;  "  but  I  am  glad   you  do  not  suppose  that  I  could 
bear  malice   on   account    of  a  frank  expression    of  opinion 
Every  man  has  his  responsibilities,  I  am  aware,  but  our  ideas 
of  duty  sometimes  differ." 

"  Thee's  right  there,"  said  the  old  lady ;  "  and  perhaps  we 
ought  not  to  ask  more  than  that  the  truth  be  sought  for,  in  a 
sincere  spirit.  I  don't  think,  from  thy  face,  that  there  is  much 
of  stubborn  worldly  pride  in  thy  nature,  though  thee  belongs 
to  the  world,  as  v.  e  Friends  say." 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  107 

"  I  have  found  that  a  knowledge  of  the  world  cures  one  of 
unreasonable  pride.  The  more  I  mingle  with  men,  the  more  I 
find  reflections  of  myself,  which  better  enable  me  to  estimate 
my  own  character." 

"If  thee  but  keeps  the  heart  pure,  the  Holy  Spirit  may 
come  to  thee  in  the  crowded  places,  even  as  The  Saviour  was 
caught  up  from  the  midst  of  His  Disciples !"  she  exclaimed 
with  fervor.  Gazing  on  her  steady,  earnest  eyes,  Woodbury 
could  not  help  thinking  to  himself:  "The  daughter  comes 
legitimately  by  her  traits." 

"  Can  thee  accustom  thyself  to  such  a  quiet  life  as  thee  leads 
now  ?"  she  asked ;  and  then  gazing  at  him,  continued,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself:  "  It  is  not  a  restless  face.  Ah,  but  that  is 
not  always  a  sign  of  a  quiet  heart.  There  are  mysteries  in 
man,  past  finding  out,  or  only  discovered  when  it  is  too  late  I" 

"  This  life  is  not  at  all  quiet,"  he  answered,  "  compared  with 
that  which  I  have  led  for  the  past  ten  or  twelve  years.  In  a 
foreign  country,  and  especially  within  the  tropics,  the  novelty 
of  the  surroundings  soon  wears  off,  and  one  day  is  so  exactly 
the  repetition  of  another,  that  we  almost  lose  our  count  of 
time.  It  seems  to  me,  now,  as  if  I  were  just  awaking  out  of  a 
long  sleep.  I  have  certainly  thought  more,  and  felt  more,  in 
these  three  months  than  in  as  many  years  abroad ;  for  I  had 
come  to  believe  that  the  world  was  standing  still,  while  now  I 
see  that  it  really  moves,  and  I  must  move  with  it." 

"  I  like  to  hear  thee  say  that !"  exclaimed  the  widow,  turn- 
ing suddenly  towards  him,  with  a  bright,  friendly  interest  in 
her  face.  "  Men  are  so  apt  to  be  satisfied  with  their  own  opin- 
ions— at  least,  when  they've  reached  thy  age.  Thee's  over 
thirty,  I  should  think  ?" 

"  Thirty-six,"  Woodbury  respectfully  answered,  "  but  I  hope 
I  shall  never  be  so  old  as  to  suppose,  like  the  counsellors  of 
Job,  that  wisdom  will  die  with  me." 

Tue  widow  understood  his  allusion,  in  the  literal  sense 
which  he  intended :  not  so  another  auditor.  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton,  who  heard  the  last  words  as  she  entered  the  room,  at  once 


108  HANXAH  THTJRSTON: 

suspected  a  hidden  sarcasm,  aimed  principally  at  herself.  The 
indirect  attacks  to  which  she  had  been  subjected, — especially 
from  persons  of  her  own  sex, — had  made  her  sensitive  and  sus- 
picious. Her  surprise  at  Woodbury's  presence  vanished  in  the 
spirit  of  angry  antagonism  which  suddenly  arose  within  her. 
She  took  the  hand  he  frankly  offered,  with  a  mechanical  cold- 
ness strangely  at  variance  with  her  flushed  cheeks  and  earnest 
eyes. 

"  I'm  glad  thee's  come,  Hannah,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Friend 
Woodbury  has  been  kind  enough  to  bring  thee  a  book,  and 
I've  been  using  an  old  woman's  privilege,  to  make  his  acquain- 
tance. He'll  not  take  it  amiss,  I'm  sure !" 

Woodbury  replied  with  a  frank  smile,  which  he  knew  she 
would  understand.  His  manner  towards  the  daughter,  how- 
ever, had  a  shade  of  formal  deference.  Something  told  him 
that  his  visit  was  not  altogether  welcome  to  her.  "  I  found 
the  translation  of  the  Megha-Duta,  Miss  Thurston,"  he  said, 
"jmd  have  called  to  leave  it,  on  my  way  to  the  village.  If  it 
interests  you,  I  shall  make  search  for  whatever  other  frag- 
ments of  Indian  literature  I  may  have." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  forced  herself  to  say, 
inwardly  resolving,  that,  whether  interesting  or  not,  this  was 
the  first  and  last  book  she  would  receive  from  the  library  of 
Lakeside. 

"  It  is  really  kind  of  thee,"  interposed  the  widow ;  "  Hannah 
finds  few  books  here  in  Ptolemy  that  she  cares  to  read,  and  we 
cannot  afford  to  buy  many.  What  was  the  work,  Hannah, 
thee  spoke  of  the  other,  night?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  daughter,  after  a  moment's  reluctance, 
answered:  "I  was  reading  to  mother  Carlyle's  Essay  on 
Goethe,  and  his  reference  to  '  Wilhelm  Meister'  excited  my 
curiosity.  I  believe  Carlyle  himself  translated  it,  and  therefore 
the  translation  must  be  nearly  equal  to  the  original." 

"  I  read  it  some  years  ago,  in  Calcutta,"  said  Woodbury, 
"but  I  only  retain  the  general  impression  which  it  left  upon 
my  mind.  It  seemed  to  me,  then,  a  singular  medley  of  wis- 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  109 

dom  and  weakness,  of  the  tenderest  imagination  and  the 
coarsest  reality.  But  I  have  no  copy,  at  present,  by  which  to 
test  the  correctness  of  that  impression.  I  am  not  a  very  criti- 
cal reader,  as  you  will  soon  discover,  Miss  Thurston.  Do  you 
like  Carlyle  ?" 

"I  like  his  knowledge,  his  earnestness,  and  his  clear  insight 
into  characters  and  events,  though  I  cannot  always  adopt  his 
conclusions.  His  thought,  ho wever,«is  strong  and  vital,  and  it 
refreshes  and  stimulates  at  the  same  time.  I  am  afraid  he 
spoils  me  for  other  authors." 

"  Is  not  that,  in  itself,  an  evidence  of  something  false  in  his 
manner  ?  That  which  is  absolutely  greatest  or  truest  should 
not  weaken  our  delight  in  the  lower  forms  of  excellence.  Pe- 
culiarities of  style,  when  not  growing  naturally  out  of  the  sub- 
ject, seem  to  me  like  condiments,  which  disguise  the  natural 
flavor  of  the  dish  and  unfit  the  palate  to  enjoy  it.  Have  you 
ever  put  the  thought,  which  Carlyle  dresses  in  one  of  his 
solemn,  involved,  oracular  sentences,  into  the  Quaker  garb  of 
plain  English  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  somewhat  startled.  "  I  con- 
fess," she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  the  idea  of  such  an  experi- 
ment is  not  agreeable  to  me.  I  cannot  coldly  dissect  an  au- 
thor whom  I  so  heartily  admire." 

Woodbury  smiled  very,  very  slightly,  but  her  quick  eye 
caught  and  retained  his  meaning.  "Then  I  will  not  dissect 
him  for  yon,"  he  said ;  "  though  I  think  you  would  find  a 
pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  the  critical  faculty,  to  counter- 
balance the  loss  of  an  indiscriminate  admiration.  I  speak  for 
myself,  however.  I  cannot  be  content  until  I  ascertain  the 
real  value  of  a  man  and  his  works,  though  a  hundred  pleasant1 
illusions  are  wrecked  in  the  process.  I  am  slow  to  acknowl- 
edge or  worship  greatness,  since  I  have  seen  the  stuff  of  which 
many  idols  are  composed.  The  nearer  an  author  seems  to  re- 
flect my  own  views,  the  more  suspicious  I  am,  at  first,  of  his 
influence  upon  me.  A  man  who  knows  how  to  see,  to  think, 
and  to  judge,  though  he  may  possess  but  an  average  intellect, 


110  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  I 

is  able  to  get  at  all  important  truths  himself,  without  taking 
them  at  second-hand." 

There  was  no  assumption  of  superiority — not  the  slightest 
trace  of  intellectual  arrogance  in  Woodbury's  manner.  He 
spoke  with  the  simple  frankness  of  a  man  who  was  utterly  un- 
conscious that  he  was  dealing  crushing  blows  on  the  mental 
habits  of  his  listener — not  seeming  to  recognize,  even,  that 
they  were  different  from  his  own.  This  calmness,  so  unlike 
the  heat  and  zeal  with  which  other  men  were  accustomed  to 
discuss  questions  with  her,  disconcerted  and  silenced  Hannah 
Thurston.  He  never  singled  out  any  single  assertion  of  hers 
as  a  subject  of^dispute,  but  left  it  to  be  quietly  overwhelmed 
in  the  general  drift  of  his  words.  It  was  a  species  of  mental 
antagonism  for  which  she  was  not  prepared.  To  her  mother, 
who  judged  men  more  or  less  by  that  compound  of  snow  and 
fire  who  had  been  her  husband,  Woodbury's  manner  was  ex- 
ceedingly grateful.  She  perceived,  as  her  daughter  did  not, 
the  different  mental  complexion  of  the  sexes  ;  and  moreover, 
she  now  recognized,  in  him,  a  man  with  courage  enough  to 
know  the  world  without  bitterness  of  heart. 

"I  thank  thee,"  said  she,  as  he  rose  to  leave  with  an  apology 
for  the  length  of  his  stay  ;  '*  I  have  enjoyed  thy  visit.  Come 
again,  some  time,  if  thee  finds  it  pleasant  to  do  so.  I  see  thee 
can  take  a  friendly  word  in  a  friendly  way,  and  thee  may  be 
sure  that  I  won't  judge  thy  intentions  wrongly,  where  I  am 
led  to  think  differently." 

"Thank  you,  Friend  Thurston:  it  is  only  in  differing,  that 
we  learn.  I  hope  to  see  you  again."  He  took  the  widow's 
offered  hand,  bowed  to  Hannah,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Mother !"  exclaimed  the  latter,  as  she  heard  the  outei 
door  close  behind  him,  "why  did  thee  ask  him  to  come 
again  ?" 

"  Why,  Hannah  !  Thee  surprises  me.  It  is  right  to  bear 
testimony,  but  we  are  not  required  to  carry  it  so  far  as  that. 
Has  thee  heard  any  thing  against  his  character  ?" 

"  No,  mother :  he  is  said  to  be  upright  and  honorable,  but  I 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  Ill 

do  not  like  to  be  obliged  to  him  for  kindnesses,  when  he, 
no  doubt,  thinks  my  condemnation  of  his  habits  impertinent, — 
when,  I  know,  he  despises  and  sneers  at  my  views!" 

u  Hannah',"  said  the  mother,  gravely,  "I  think  thee  does  him 
injustice.  He  is  not  the  man  to  despise  thee,  or  any  one  who 
thinks  earnestly  and  labors  faithfully,  even  in  a  cause  he  cannot 
appreciate.  We  two  women,  living  alone  here,  or  only  seeing 
the  men  who  are  with  us  in  sympathy,  must  not  be  too  hasty 
to  judge.  Is  thee  not,  in  this  way,  committing  the  very  fault 
of  which  thee  accuses  him  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Hannah:  "I  doubt  whether  I  know  what 
is  true."  She  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  The  volume  Wood- 
bury  left  behind,  caught  her  eye.  Taking  it  up,  she  turned 
over  the  leaves  listlessly,  but  soon  succumbed  to  the  tempta- 
tion and  read — read  until  the  fairy  pictures  of  the  Indian 
moonlight  grew  around  her,  as  the  Cloud  sailed  on,  over  jun- 
gle and  pagoda,  and  the  dance  of  maidens  on  the  marble  ter- 
races. 

Meanwhile,  Woodbury  having  transacted  his  business  and 
Bute  Wilson  his,  the  two  were  making  preparations  to  return 
to  Lakeside,  when  a  plump  figure,  crossing  the  beaten  snow- 
track  in  front  of  the  Ptolemy  House,  approached  them.  Even 
before  the  thick  green  veil  was  thrown  back,  Woodbury  recog- 
nized the  fat  hand  which  withdrew  itself  from  a  worn  chinchil- 
la muff,  as  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Waldo.  Presently  her  round  dark 
eyes  shone  full  upon  him,  and  he  heard — what  everybody  in 
Ptolemy  liked  to  hear — the  subdued  trumpet  of  her  voice. 

"  Just  in  time  to  catch  you  !"  she  laughed.  "  How  do  you 
do,  Bute  ?  Will  you  call  at  the  parsonage,  Mr.  Woodbury  ? 
]STo  ?  Then  I  must  give  you  my  message  in  the  open  street. 
Is  anybody  near  ?  You  must  know  it's  a  secret."  After  hav- 
ing said  this  in  a  loud  tone,  she  lowered  her.  voice :  "  Well,  I 
don't  mind  Bute  knowing  it :  Bute  is  not  a  leaky  .pitcher,  I'm 
sure." 

"  I  reckon  Mr.  Max  knows  that,"  said  Arbutus,  with  a  broad 
laugh  dancing  in  his  blue  eyes. 


112  HANNAH   THURSTON  I 

"  What  is  it  ?  Another  fair  for  the  Cimmerians  ?  Or  is 
Miss  Eliza  Clancy  engaged  to  a  missionary?"  asked  Woodbury. 

"  Be  silent,  that  you  may  hear.  If  it  were  not  for  my  feet 
getting  cold,  I  would  be  a  quarter  of  an  hour  telling  you.  But 
I  must  hurry — there's  Mrs.  Bue  coming  out  of  her  yard,  and 
she  scents  a  secret  a  mile  oif.  Well — it's  to  be  at  Merryfield's 
on  Saturday  evening.  You  must  be  sure  to  come." 

"  What— the  Sewing  Union  ?" 

"  Bless  me !     I  forgot.     No — Dyce  is  to  be  there." 

"  Dyce  ?" 

"  Yes.  They  don't  want  it  to  be  generally  known,  as  so  many 
would  go  out  of  mere  curiosity.  I  must  say,  betAveen  us,  that 
is  my  only  reason.  Neither  you  nor  I  have  any  faith  in  it ;  but 
Mrs.  Merryfield  says  she  wrill  be  glad  if  you  can  come." 

"First  tell  me  who  Dyce  is,  and  what  is  to  be  done,"  said 
Woodbury,  not  a  little  surprised.  The  expression  thereof 
was  instantly  transferred  to  Mrs.  Waldo's  face. 

"Well — to  be.  sure,  you're  as  ignorant  as  a  foreigner.  Bute 
knows,  I'll  be  bound.  Tell  him,  Bute,  on  the  way  home. 
Good-by!  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Bue?  I  was  just  telling 
Mr.  Woodbury  that  the  vessel  for  Madras" — and  the  remainder 
of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  the  departing  bells. 

"Dyce  is  what  they  call  a  Mejum,"  explained  Bute,  as  they 
dashed  out  on  the  Anacreon  road  :  "  Merryfields  believe  in  it. 
I  was  there  once't  when  they  made  the  dinner-table  jump  like 
a  wild  colt  Then  there's  sperut-raps,  as  they  call  'em,  but 
it's  not  o'  much  account  what  they  say.  One  of 'em  spoke  to 
me,  lettin'  on  to  be  my  father.  '  Arbutus,'  says  he  (they  spelt 
it  out),  'I'm  in  the  third  spere,  along  with  Jane.'  Ha!  ha! 
and  my  mother's  name  was  Margaretta!  But  you'd  better 
see  it  for  yourself,  Mr.  Max.  Seein'  's  believin',  they  say, 
but  you  won't  believe  niore'n  you've  a  mind  to,  after  all." 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  113 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SPIRITUAL   AND    OTHER*  RAPPINGS. 

HAD  the  invitation  to  a  spiritual  seance  been  given  by  any 
one  but  Mrs.  Waldo,  Woodbury  would  probably  have  felt  lit- 
tle inclination  to  attend.  The  Merryfields  alone,  with  their 
ambitious  sentiment  and  negative  intellect,  were  beginning  to 
be  tiresome  acquaintances,  now  that  the  revival  of  old  memo- 
ries was  exhausted ;  but  the  warm  heart  and  sound  brain  of 
that  one  woman  made  any  society  tolerable.  His  thoughts  re- 
verted to  Hannah  Thurston  :  would  she  be  there  ?  Of  course : 
was  his  mental  reply — yet  she  certainly  could  not  share  in  the 
abominable  delusion.  Why  not,  after  all  ?  Her  quick,  eager 
intelligence,  too  proud  and  self-reliant  to  be  restrained  by  tra- 
ditional theories, — too  unbalanced,  from  the  want  of  contact 
with  equal  minds, — too  easily  moved  by  the  mere  utterance 
of  attractive  sentiment, — was  it  not,  rather,  the  soil  in  which 
these  delusions  grew  strong  and  dangerous  ?  He  would  go 
and  see. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  reluctance,  al- 
most of  shame  at  his  own  curiosity,  as  he  left  Lakeside.  The 
night  was  overcast,  with  a  raw,  moaning  wind  in  the  tree-tops, 
and  Bute  was  forced  to  drive  slowly,  feeling  rather  than  seeing 
the  beaten  tracks.  This  employment,  with  the  necessary  re- 
marks to  the  old  horse  Dick,  fully  occupied  his  attention. 
Finally,  however,  he  broke  silence  with: 

"  I  s'pose  they'll  have  Absalom  up  to-night  ?" 

"  What !  Do  they  go  so  far  as  that  ?  Can  they  really  be- 
lieve it  ?"  Woodbury  asked. 

"They  jest  do.     They  want  to  b'lieve  it,  and  it  comes  easy. 


114  HANNAH 

If  brains  was  to  be  ground,  between  you  .and  me,  neither  of 
'em  would  bring  much  grist  to  the  mill.  I  don't  wonder  at 
her  so  much,  for  she  set  a  good  deal  of  store  by  Absalom,  and 
't  seems  natural,  you  know,  for  women  to  have  notions  o'  that 
kind." 

"Are  there  many  persons  in  Ptolemy  who  believe  in  such 
things  ?" 

"  Well — I  don't  hardly  think  there  be.  Leastways,  they 
don't  let  on.  There's  Seth  Wattles,  o'  course :  he's  fool  enough 
for  any  thing ;  and  I  guess  Lawyer  Tanner.  Ever  sence  Mr. 
Styles  preached  ag'in  'em,  it  a'n't  considered  jist  respectable. 
Infidel-like,  you  know." 

Woodbury  laughed.  "Well,  Bute,"  said  he,  "we  shall 
hardly  find  Mr.  Waldo  there  to-night,  if  that  is  the  case." 

"He'll  be  there,  Mr.  Max,  if  she  is.  She'll  bring  him  clear, 
no  matter  what  folks  says.  Miss  Waldo's  a  wife  worth  hav- 
in' — not  but  what  he's  got  considerable  grit,  too.  He's  not 
strong  at  revivals,  but  he's  a  good  hand  at  holdin'  together  all 
he  gits." 

As  they  drove  up  the  lane  to  Merryfield's  farm-house,  all  was 
dark  and  silent.  The  shutters  were  closed,  and  there  was  no 
appearance  of  other  visitors  having  arrived.  At  the  noise  of 
the  bells,  however,  the  door  opened,  and  the  owner,  after  sum- 
moning his  hired  man  from  the  kitchen,  to  assist  Bute  in  tak- 
ing charge  of  the  horse,  waited  until  Woodbury  approached, 
in  order  to  help  him  oif  with  his  overcoat.  "They  are  all 
here  that  are  likely  to  come,"  he  announced  in  a  whisper. 

James  Merry  field  was  a  man  of  fifty,  or  a  little  more,  in 
whom  the  desire  to  be  a  reformer  had  been  excited  long  after 
he  had  reached  his  maturity  as  a  simple,  unpretending  farmer. 
The  fictitious  character  but  imperfectly  overlaid  the  natural 
one,  giving  him  an  uncertain,  hesitating  air.  Indeed,  with  all 
his  assertion  and  self-gratulation,  he  never  could  overcome  a 
secret  doubt  of  his  ability  to  play  the  new  part.  But  he  was 
honest  and  sincerely  conscientious,  and  a  more  prominent  posi- 
tion than  he  would  have  assumed,  of  his  own  choice,  was 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  115 

forced  upon  him  by  his  friends.  He  possessed  a  comfortable 
property,  and  they  were  well  aware  of  the  advantage  of  being 
represented  by  men  with  bases. 

His  frame  had  been  soundly  developed,  not  over-worn,  by 
labor  in  his  own  fields,  yet  he  was  awkward,  almost  shambling, 
in  his  movements.  His  head  was  usually  held  on  the  left  side, 
and  a  straight  line  dropped  from  the  centre  of  his  brow  would 
not  nearly  have  coincided  with  the  axis  of  his  nose.  The  large, 
irregular  mouth  expressed  both  the  honesty  and  the  weakness 
of  the  man.  His  voice,  always  nasal,  rose  into  a  shrill,  decla- 
matory monotone  when  he  became  excited — a  key  which  he 
continually  let  drop,  and  again  resumed,  in  disagreeable  fluc- 
tuations. Thus  Woodbury,  while  heartily  respecting  his  char- 
acter, found  much  of  his  society  tiresome. 

His  wife,  Sarah,  who  was  six  or  seven  years  younger,  was 
one  of  those  women,  who,  without  the  power  of  thinking  for 
themselves,  have,  nevertheless,  a  singular  faculty  for  accepting 
the  thoughts  and  conclusions  of  others.  She  was  entirely  de- 
pendent on  two  or  three  chosen  leaders  in  the  various  "Re- 
forms," without  the  slightest  suspicion  of  her  mental  serfdom. 
Every  new  phase  of  their  opinions  she  appropriated,  and 
reproduced  as  triumphantly  as  if  it  had  been  an  original  dis- 
covery. She  had,  .in  fact,  no  intellectual  quality  except  a  tol- 
erable fluency  of  speech.  This,  alone,  gave  her  some  consider- 
ation in  her  special  circle,  and  kept  her  hesitating  husband  in 
the  background.  Both  had  been  touched  by  the  Hand  of  Pro- 
gress, rather  too  late  for  their  equilibrium.  They  had  reached 
the  transition  state,  it  is  true,  but  were  doomed  never  to  pass 
through  it,  and  attain  that  repose  which  is  as  possible  to  shal- 
low as  to  deep  waters. 

In  person  she  was  thin,  but  not  tall,  with  a  face  expressive 
of  passive  amiability,  slightly  relieved  by  dyspepsia.  The  pale, 
unhealthy  color  of  her  skin,  the  dulness  of  her  eyes,  and  the 
lustreless  hue  of  her  thin,  reddish-brown  hair,  hinted  at  a  sys- 
tem hopelessly  disordered  by  dietetic  experiments.  Her  chil- 
dren had  all  died  young,  with  the  exception  of  Absalom,  who 


116  HANNAH  THUKSTON  : 

had  barely  reached  manhood,  when  the  care  of -his  health,  as 
Bute  said,  proved  too  great  a  burden  to  him. 

Woodbury  was  ushered,  not  into  the  parlor,  but  into  the 
room  ordinarily  occupied  by  the  family.  A  single  candle  was 
burning  on  the  table,  dimly  lighting  the  apartment.  Mrs. 
Merryfield  carne  forward  to  receive  her  guest,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Waldo,  who  said,  with  unusual  gravity :  "  You  are  in  time — • 
we  were  just  about  to  commence." 

Seated  around  the  table  were  Hannah  Thurston,  Mr.  Waldo, 
Seth  Wattles,  Tanner,  the  lawyer,  and  a  cadaverous  stranger, 
who  could  be  no  other  than  Mr.  Dyce.  A  motion  of  his  hand 
dissuaded  the  company  from  rising,  and  they  gravely  bowed 
to  Woodbury  without  speaking.  Mr.  Dyce,  after  a  rapid 
glance  at  the  new-comer,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  table.  He 
was  a  middle-aged  man,  broad-shouldered  but  spare,  with  long, 
dark  hair,  sunken  cheeks,  and  eyes  in  which  smouldered  some 
powerful,  uncanny  magnetic  force. 

After  Woodbury  had  taken  his  seat  at  the  table,  and  Mr. 
Merryfield  had  closed  .the  door,  the  medium  spoke,  in  a  low 
but  strong  voice : 

"Take  away  the  candle." 

It  was  placed  upon  a  small  stand,  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 
"  Shall  I  put  it  out  ?"  asked  the  host. 

Mr.  Dyce  shook  his  head. 

Presently  a  succession  of  sharp,  crackling  raps  was  heard,  as 
if  made  on  the  under  surface  of  the  table.  They  wandered 
about,  now  fainter,  now  stronger,  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
approached  Mrs.  Merryfield. 

"  It's  Absalom  !"  she  cried,  the  yearning  of  a  mother's  heart 
overleaping  the  course  of  experiment.  "  What  has  he  to  say 
to-night?" 

"  Will  the  spirit  communicate  through  the  alphabet  ?"  asked 
the  medium. 

Three  raps—"  Yes." 

Lettered  cards  were  laid  upon  the  table,  and  the  medium, 
commencing  at  A,  touched  them  in  succession  until  a  rap  an- 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  117 

noiiDced  the  correct  letter.  This  was  written,  and  the  process 
repeated  until  the  entire  communication  was  obtained. 

"  /  have  been  teaching  my  sisters.  They  are  waiting  for 
me  on  the  steps  of  the  temple.  Good-night,  mother  T — was 
Absalom's  message. 

"  How  beautiful !"  exclaimed  Seth  Wattles.  "  The  temple 
must  mean  the  future  life,  and  the  steps  are  the  successive 
spheres.  Will  any  spirit  communicate  with  me  ?" 

The  raps  ceased.  Mr.  Dyce  raised  his  head,  looked  .around 
with  his  glow-worm  eyes,  and  asked :  "  Does  any  one  desire 
to  speak  with  a  relative  or  friend  ?  Does  any  one  feel  im- 
pressed with  the  presence  of  a  spirit?"  His  glance  rested  on 
Hannah  Thurston. 

"  I  would  like  to  ask,"  said  she,  as  the  others  remained  si- 
lent, u  \Vhether  the  person  whose  name  is  in  my  mind,  has  any 
message  for  me." 

Alter  a  pause,  the  medium  shuddered,  stretched  out  his 
hands  upon  the  table,  with  the  fingers  rigidly  crooked,  lifted 
his  head,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  vacancy.  His  lips  scarcely 
seemed  to  move,  but  a  faint,  feminine  voice  came  from  his 
throat. 

"  lam  in  a  distant  sphere"  it  said,  "  engaged  in  the  labors 
I  began  while  on  earth.  I  bear  a  new  name,  for  the  promise 
of  that  which  I  once  had  is  fulfilled" 

Hannah  Thurston  said  nothing.  She  seemed  to  be  ponder- 
ing the  meaning  of  what  she  had  heard.  Mrs.  Waldo  turned 
to  Woodbury,  with  a  face  which  so  distinctly  said  to  him, 
without  words:  "It's  awful!"  that  he  answered  her,  in  a 
similar  way  :  "  Don't  be  afraid !" 

"  Will  you  ask  a  question,  Mr.  Woodbury  ?"  said  the 
host. 

"I  have  no  objection,"  he  said,  in  a  serious  tone,  "to  select 
a  name,  as  Miss  Thurston  has  done,  and  let  the  answer  test 
from  what  spirit  it  conies." 

After  a  rapid  glance  at  the  speaker,  the  medium  pushed 
pencil  and  paper  across  the  table,  saying :  "  Write  the  name, 


118  HANNAH  THTTKSTON: 

fold  the  paper  so  that  no  one  can  see  it,  and  hold  it  in  your 
hand."  He  then  placed  one  elbow  on  the  table,  and  covered 
his  face  with  his  hand,  the  fingers  slightly  separated. 

Woodbury  wrote — a  long  name,  it  seemed  to  be — and 
folded  the  paper  as  directed.  Some  wandering,  uncertain 
raps  followed.  Communication  by  means  of  the  alphabet 
was  proposed  to  the  spirit,  without  a  response.  After  a 
sufficient  pause  to  denote  refusal,  the  raps  commenced 
again. 

Mr.  Dyce  shuddered  several  times,  but  no  sound 'proceeded 
from  his  mouth.  Suddenly  turning  towards  Woodbury  with 
set  eyes,  and  pointing  his  finger,  he  exclaimed :  "  He  is  stand 
ing  behind  you !" 

The  others,  startled,  looked  towards  the  point  indicated,  and 
even  Woodbury  involuntarily  turned  his  head. 

"  I  see  him,"  continued  the  medium — "  a  dark  man,  not  of 
our  race.  He  wears  a  splendid  head-dress,  and  ornaments  of 
gold.  His  eyes  are  sad  and  his  lips  are  closed  :  he  is  permit- 
ted to  show  his  presence,  but  not  to  speak  to  you.  Now  he 
raises  both  hands  to  his  forehead,  and  disappears." 

"  Who  was  it  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Waldo,  eagerly. 

Woodbury  silently  unfolded  the  paper,  and  handed  it  to  her. 
Even  Mr.  Dyce  could  not  entirely  conceal  his  curiosity  to  hear 
the  name. 

"  What  is  this !"  said  she.  "I  can  scarcely  read  it :  Bab — 
Baboo  Rugbutty  Churn  Chuckerbutty !  It  is  certainly  no- 
body's name!" 

"  It  is  the  actual  name  of  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  in  Cal- 
cutta," Woodbury  answered. 

"  A  Hindoo  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dyce,  with  a  triumphant  air  -• 
"  that  accounts  for  his  inability  to  use  the  alphabet." 

"  I  do  not  see. why  it  should,"  rejoined  Woodbury,  "unless 
he  has  forgotten  his  English  since  I  left  India." 

"  He  did  speak  English,  then  ?"  several  asked. 

"  Did,  and  still  does,  I  presume.  At  least,  he  was  not  dead, 
three  months  ago,"  he  answered,  so  quietly  and  gravely  that 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  119 

none  of  the  company  (except,  perhaps,  the  medium)  supposed 
that  a  trick  had  been  intended. 

"  Not  dead !"  some  one  exclaimed,  in  great  amazement. 
"  Why  did  you  summon  him  ?" 

"Because  I  did  not  wish  to  evoke  any  friend  or  relative 
whom  I  have  lost,  and  I  had  a  curiosity  to  ascertain  whether 
the  spirits  of  the  living  could  be  summoned,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  dead." 

There  was  a  blank  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Only  Bute, 
who  had  stolen  into  the  room  and  taken  a  quiet  seat  in  one 
corner,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  gave  an  audible  chuckle. 

Mr.  Dyce,  who  had  concealed  a  malignant  expression  under 
his  hand,  now  lifted  a  serene  face,  and  said,  in  a  solemn  voice : 
"The  living,  as  we  call  them,  cannot  usurp  the  powers  and 
privileges  of  those  who  have  entered  on  the  spiritual  life.  The 
spirit,  whose  name  was  written,  has  either  left  the  earth,  or 
that  of  another,  unconsciously  present  in  the  gentleman's  mind, 
has  presented  itself." 

The  believers  brightened  up.  How  simple  was  the  explana- 
tion !  The  mere  act  of  writing  the  name  of  one  Hindoo  had 
recalled  others  to  Mr.  Woodbury's  memory,  and  his  thoughts 
must  have  dwelt,  en  passant, — probably  without  his  being  in 
the  least  aware  of  it,  so  rapid  is  mental  action, — on  some  other 
Hindoo  friend,  long  since  engaged  in  climbing  the  successive 
spheres.  In  vain  did  he  protest  against  having  received  even 
a  flying  visit  from  the  recollection  of  any  such  person.  Seth 
Wattles  triumphantly  asked:  "Are  you  always  aware  of 
every  thing  that  passes  through  your  mind  ?" 

Mrs.  Merryfield  repeated  a  question  she  had  heard  the  week 
before  :  "  Can  you  always  pick  up  the  links  by  which  you  pass 
from  one  thought  to  another  ?" 

Her  husband  modestly  thrust  in  a  suggestion:  "Perhaps 
your  friend  Chuckerchurn  is  now  among  the  spirits,  as  it 
were." 

Mr.  Dyce,  who  had  been  leaning  forward,  with  his  arms  un- 
der the  table,  during  these  remarks,  suddenly  lifted  his  head, 


120  HANNAH   THURSTOX  : 

exclaiming :  "  He  has  come  back !" — which  produced  a  momen- 
tary silence.  "Yes — I  cannot  refuse  you!"  he  added,  as  if 
addressing  the  spirit,  and  then  started  violently  from  his  seat, 
twisting  his  left  arm  as  if  it  had  received  a  severe  blow.  He 
drew  up  his  coat-sleeve,  which  was  broad  and  loose,  then  the 
sleeve  of  his  shirt,  and  displayed  a  sallow  arm,  upon  the  skin 
of  which  were  some  red  marks,  somewhat  resembling  the  let- 
ters "R.  R."  In  a  few  moments,  however,  the  marks  faded 
away. 

"  His  initials  !     Who  can  it  be  ?"  said  Seth. 

"Rammohun  Roy!"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  betrayed,  as  it 
almost  seemed,  into  a  temporary  belief  in  the  reality  of  the 
visitation. 

"  I  assure  you,"  Woodbury  answered,  "  that  nothing  was 
further  from  my  thoughts  than  the  name  of  Rammohun  Roy, 
a  person  whom  I  never  saw.  If  I  wished  to  be  convinced 
that  these  phenomena  proceed  from  spirits,  I  should  select  some 
one  who  could  give  me  satisfactory  evidence  of  his  identity." 

"  The  skeptical  will  not  believe,  though  one  came  from 
heaven  to  convince  them,"  remarked  the  medium,  in  a  hollow 
tone. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence. 

"  My  friends,  do  not  disturb  the  atmosphere !"  cried  Mr. 
Merryfield ;  "  I  hope  we  shall  have  further  manifestations." 

A  loud  rap  on  the  table  near  him  seemed  to  be  intended  as  a 
reply. 

Mr.  Dyce's  hand,  after  a  few  nervous  jerks,  seized  the  pen- 
cil, and  wrote  rapidly  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  After  completing 
the  message  and  appending  the  signature  to  the  bottom^  ho 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

Mr.  Merryfield  eagerly  grasped  the  paper.  "Ah  !"  said  he, 
"  it  is  my  friend  !"  and  read  the  following : 

"  Be  ye  not  weak  of  vision  to  perceive  the  coming  triumph 
of  TruiJi.  Even  though  she  creep  like  a  tortoise  in  the  race, 
while  Error  leaps  like  a  hare,  yet  shall  she  first  reach  the  goal. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  121 

The  light  from  the  spirit-ioorld  is  only  beginning  to  dawn  up- 
on the  night  of  Earth.  When  the  sun  shall  rise,  only  the  owls 
and  bats  among  men  will  be  blind  to  its  rays.  Then  the  per- 
fect day  of  Liberty  shall  Jill  the  sky,  and  even  the  spheres  of 
spirits  be  gladdened  by  reflections  from  the  realm  of  mortals  ! 

"  BENJAMIN  LUNDY." 

In  spite  of  certain  inaccuracies  in  the  spelling  of  this  mes- 
sage, the  reader's  face  brightened  with  satisfaction.  "  There !" 
he  exclaimed — "  there  is  a  genuine  test !  No  one  but  the 
spirit  of  Lundy,  as  it  were,  could  have  written  those  words." 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Woodbury. 

"  Why — why — the  foot  of  Hercules  sticks  out !"  said  Mr. 
Merryfield,  falling,  in  his  confusion,  from  the  lofty  strain. 
"  You  never  knowed  the  sainted  Lundy,  the  purest  and  most 
beautiful  spirit  of  this  age.  Those  are  his  very — yes,  he  would 
make  the  same  expressions,  as  it  were,  if  his  voice  could, — if 
he  were  still  in  the  flesh." 

Woodbury's  eyes,  mechanically,  wandered  to  Mrs.  Waldo 
and  Hannah  Thurston.  The  former  preserved  a  grave  face, 
but  a  smile,  perceptible  to  him  alone,  lurked  at  the  bottom  of 
her  eyes.  The  latter,  too  earnest  in  all  things  to  disguise  the 
expression  of  her  most  fleeting  emotions,  looked  annoyed  and 
uneasy.  Woodbury  determined  to  take  no  further  part  in  the 
proceedings — a  mental  conclusion  which  Mr.  Dyce  was  suffi- 
ciently clairvoyant  to  feel,  and  which  relieved  while  it  discon- 
certed him. 

Various  other  spirits  announced  their  presence,  but  their 
communications  became  somewhat  incoherent,  and  the  semi- 
believers  present  were  not  strengthened  by  the  evening's  ex- 
periments. Mr.  Waldo,  in  answer  to  a  mental  question,  re- 
ceived the  following  message : 

"  I  will  not  say  that  my  mind  dwelt  too  strongly  on  the 
symbols  by  which  Faith  is  expressed,  for  through  symbols  the 
Truth  was  made  clear  to  me.  There  are  many  paths,  but  then 
all  have  the  same  ending" 


122  HANNAH    THUESTON  : 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that.  Are  you  not  satisfied  ?" 
asked  Seth  Wattles. 

"  Not  quite.  I  had  expected  a  different  message  from  the 
spirit  I  selected,"  said  Mr.  Waldo. 

"  Was  it  not  Beza  Cimmer  ?" 

"  No !"  was  the  astonished  reply :  "  I  was  thinking  of  a 
school-mate  and  friend,  who  took  passage  for  the  West  Indies 
in  a  vessel  that  was  never  heard  of  afterwards." 

"We  must  not  forget,"  said  Mr.  Dyce,  "that  our  friends  in 
the  spirit-world  still  retain  their  independence.  You  may  send 
for  a  neighbor  to  come  and  see  you,  and  while  you  are  waiting 
for  him,  another  may  unexpectedly  step  in.  It  is  just  so  in  our 
intercourse  with  spirits :  we  cannot  control  them.  We  cannot 
say  to  one  :  'come!'  and  to  another:  'go!'  We  must  abide 
their  pleasure,  in  faith  and  humility." 

Mr.  Waldo  said  nothing,  and  made  no  further  attempt  at 
conversation  with  his  lost  school-mate.  Seth  Wattles  summon- 
ed, in  succession,  the  spirits  of  Socrates,  Touissant  L'Ouver- 
ture,  and  Mrs.  Hemans,  but  neither  of  them  was  inclined  to 
communicate  with  him. 

After  a  while,  some  one  remarked:  "Will  they  not  more 
palpably  manifest  themselves  ?" 

"  We  can  try,"  said  Mr.  Dyce. 

Mr.  Merryfield  thereupon  took  the  solitary  candle  into  an  ad- 
joining room.  As  the  shutters  were  closed,  the  apartment  was 
thus  left  in  complete  darkness.  The  guests  kept  their  seats 
around  the  table,  and  it  was  specially  enjoined  upon  them  not 
to  move.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  rustling  noises  were 
heard,  loud  raps  resounded  on  the  table,  which  was  several 
times  violently  lifted  and  let  down,  and  blows  were  dealt  at 
random  by  invisible  hands.  Those  who  were  so  fortunate  as 
to  be  struck,  communicated  the  news  in  a  whisper  to  their 
neighbors.  Presently,  also,  the  little  old-fashioned  piano, 
standing  on  one  side  of  the  room,  began  to  stir  its  rusty 
keys.  After  a  few  discordant  attempts  at  chords,  a  sin- 
le  hand  appeared  to  be  endeavoring  to  play  "Days  of 


A    STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  *  123 

Absence"  the  untuned  keys  making  the  melody  still  more 
dismal. 

It  was  enough  to  set  one's  teeth  on  edge,  but  Mrs.  Merry- 
fie'd  burst  into  tears.  "Oh!"  she  cried,  "it's  Angelina  her- 
self! She  was  taking  lessons,  and  had  just  got  that  far  when 
she  died." 

The  sounds  ceased,  and  light  was  restored  to  the  room.  Mr. 
Dyce  was  leaning  on  the  table,  with  his  face  in  his  hands.  As 
he  lifted  his  head,  a  large  dark  stain  appeared  under  his  right 
eye. 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  to  you  ?"  cried  Merryfield. 
"Your  eye  is  quite  black!'' 

The  medium,  whose  glance  happened  to  fall  upon  his  right 
hand,  closed  it  so  suddenly  that  the  gesture  would  have  at- 
tracted luotice,  if  he  had  not  skilfully  merged  it  into  one  of  his 
convulsive  shudders.  A  rapid  flush  came  to  his  face,  and  pass- 
ed away,  leaving  it  yellower  than  before. 

"The  unfriendly  spirits  are  unusually  active  to-night,"  he 
finally  answered:  "They  are  perhaps  encouraged  by  the  pres- 
ence of  doubters  or  scoffers.  I  name  no  names.  I  received 
several  severe  blows  while  the  light  was  removed,  and  feel  ex- 
hausted by  the  struggles  I  have  undergone.  But  it  is  noth- 
ing,! The  spirit  of  Paracelsus  will  visit  me  to-night,  and  re- 
niove  the  traces  of  this  attack.  Had  the  atmosphere  been 
pure,  it  could  not  have  occurred.  But  some  who  are  here 
present  are  yet  incapable  of  receiving  the  Truth,  and  their 
presence  clouds  the  divine  light  through  which  the  highest 
manifestations  are  made." 

Woodbury  was  too  much  disgusted  to  answer.  His  eye  fell 
upon  Bute,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  with  his  large  hand  cover- 
ing his  mouth,  and  his  face  scarlet. 

a  I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  turning  to  the  medium,  "  that  I 
am  not  convinced  of  the  spiritual  character  of  these  phenomena. 
I  do  not  profess  to  explain  them,  but  neither  can  I  explain 
much  that  I  see  in  Nature,  daily;  and  I  do  not  perceive  the 
necessity  of  referring  them  at  once  to  supernatural  causes. 


124  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  : 

By  such  an  assumption,  the  spiritual  world  is  degraded  in  our 
eyes,  without,  in  ray  opinion,  any  increase  of  positive  truth, 
even  if  the  assumption  were  correct.  A  man  who  is  really  so 
blind  as  to  disbelieve  in  the  future  life,  would  not  be  converted 
by  any  thing  we  have  seen  here  to-night ;  while  for  us,  who  be- 
lieve, the  phenomena  are  unnecessary." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dyce.  "  You  do  not  appreciate 
the  divine  utterances  from  the  world  of  spirits !  You  do  not 
recognize  the  new  and  glorious  Truths,  the  germs  of  a  moro 
perfect  Creed!" 

"I  would  prefer,"  the  parson  mildly  answered,  "not  to  hear 
the  word  4  divine'  so  applied.  No  :  to  be  entirely  frank,  I  see 
nothing  new,  or  even  true,  in  comparison  with  the  old,  Eternal 
Truth." 

"  But,"  interrupted  Merryfield,  desperately,  seeing  the  bright 
assent  on  Hannah  Thurston's  face ;  "  do  you  not  believe  in 
Progress  ?  Have  we,  as  it  were,  exhausted— are  we  at  the 
end  of  truth  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  I  believe  in  the  forward  march  of  our  race. 
We  are  still  children  in  wisdom,  and  have  much  to  learn.  But 
let  me  ask,  my  friend,  do  you  not  believe  that  the  future  life  is 
an  immeasurable  advance  upon  this  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Merryfield. 

"  Then,"  Mr.  Waldo  continued,  "  why  is  it  that  the  profess- 
ed communications  from  great  minds,  such  as  Socrates,  Luther, 
or  the  Apostles  themselves,  are  below  the  expressions  of  even 
average  human  intellect  ?" 

The  believers  stared  at  each  other  in  dumb  amazement. 
The  coolness  with  which  the  parson  took  hold  of  and  trampled 
upon  their  gems  of  superhuman  wisdom,  was  like  that  of  St. 
Boniface,  when  he  laid  the  axe  to  the  sacred  Hessian  oak. 
His  hearers,  like  the  Druids  on  that  occasion,  were  passive, 
from  the  sheer  impossibility  of  comprehending  the  sacrilege. 
Mr.  Dyce  shook  his  head  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  commiseration. 
Seth  Wattles  clasped  his.  hands,  lifted  his  eyes,  and  muttered 
in  a  hoarse  voice:  "The* time  will  come."  Mrs.  Merryfield 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  ]  25 

was  unable  to  recall  any  phrase  that  applied  to  the  case,  but 
wiped  her  eyes  for  the  third  time  since  the  mysterious  perfor- 
mance on  the  piano. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  however,  looked  at  her  husband  with  a  smile 
which  said  to  him :  "  I  knew  you  could  silence  them  whenever 
you  choose  to  show  your  strength."  Then,  rising,  she  added, 
aloud  :  "  Now  the  atmosphere  is  certainly  disturbed.  Let  us 
come  back  to  our  present  existence,  which,  after  all,  is  very 
good,  when  one  has  health,  friends,  and  a  contented  spirit." 

Mr.  Merryfield  whispered  to  his  wife,  who  disappeared  in 
the  kitchen.  "  Don't  go  yet,"  he  said  to  his  guests,  who 
had  risen  from  the  table ;  "  we  must  warm  you,  before  you 
start." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  whiskey-punch  ?"  asked  Woodbury,  aside, 
of  Mrs.^  Waldo. 

"  Hush !  The  very  suggestion  of.  such  a  thing  would  ruin 
you,  if  it  were  known,"  she  replied. 

At  the  end  of  'a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Merryfield  reappeared, 
followed  by  a  negro  girl,  who  bore  several  steaming  plates  on 
a  japanned  tray.  They  proved  to  contain  slices  of  mince-pie, 
rechauffe^,  and  rather  palatable,  although  heavy,  in  the  absence 
of  brandy.  Mrs.  Merryfield,  during  the  day,  had  seriously 
thought  of  entertaining  her  guests  with  coifee  ;  but  as  she  was 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  deleterious  nature  of  the  bever- 
age, she  decided  that  it  would  be  no  less  criminal  to  furnish  it 
to  others  than  if  she  drank  it  herself.  Consequently  they  re- 
ceived, instead,  glasses  of  hot  lemonade,  which,  by  an  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  almost  convinced  Woodbury,  in  spite  of  himself, 
that  he  was  suffering  under  an  attack  of  influenza. 

Mr.  Dyce,  who  adroitly  managed  to  keep  the  left  side  of 
his  face  towards  the  candle,  ate  his  portion  with  great  relish. 
His  spiritual  office  being  ended  for  the  day,  he  returned  with 
avidity  to  the  things  of  this  world,  and  entered  into  a  defence 
of  animal  food,  addressed  to  Seth  Wattles,  who  was  inclined 
to  be  a  Vegetarian.  Indeed,  the  medium  dropped  hints  unfa- 
vorable to  the  Temperance  reform,  which  would  have  shocked 


126  HANNAH    THUKSTON  : 

some  of  his  hearers,  if  he  had  not  based  them,  like  the  most  of 
his  opinions,  on  spiritual  communications. 

As  the  guests  were  putting  on  their  coats  and  cloaks  in  the 
hall,  Woodbury  overheard  Mrs.  Waldo,  furtively  saying  to  her 
spouse :  "  I  am  so  glad  you  spoke  your  mind." 

"  I  must  thank  you,  also,  Mr.  Waldo,"  said  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton.  "  One  should  not  too  willingly  accept  any  thing  so  new 
and  strange.  For  the  sake  of  the  truth  we  already  possess, 
it  is  right  to  be  cautious  " 

"  And  now  it  is  my  turn  to  thank  you,  Miss  Thurston,"  re- 
joined Woodbury,  gayly,  as  they  went  out  into  the  cool  night- 
air. 

She  understood  him.  For  one  instant  her  habitual  antago- 
nism asserted  itself,  but  she  conquered  it  by  a  strong  effort. 
The  night  hid  her  face,  and  her  voice  was  even-toned  and 
sweet  as  ever,  as  she  answered :  "  I  am  glad  there  is  one  point 
on  which  we  can  agree." 

"  Oh,  there  are  a  great  many,  I  assure  you,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  lightness  which,  she  knew  not  why,  struck  her  unpleas- 
antly: "  If  we  could  take  away  from  your  surplus  of  earnest 
ness,  to  complete  my  lack  of  it,  we  should  get  on  very  well 
together." 

"  Can  one  be  too  much  in  earnest  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Decidedly.  There  are  relative  values  in  ethics,  as  in  every 
thing  else.  You  would  not  pull  a  pink  with  the  same  serious 
application  of  strength  which  you  would  use,  to  wind  a  bucket 
out  of  a  well.  But  Mrs.  Waldo  waits:  good-night!" 

He  lifted  her  into  the  cutter,  the  horses  started,  and  she  was 
off  before  she  had  fairly  time  to  consider  what  he  meant.  But 
the  words  were  too  singular  to  be  forgotten. 

Bute  now  made  his  appearance,  and  Woodbury  took  his  seat 
in  the  cutter  beside  him.  Dick  was  another  horse  when  his 
head  was  pointed  towards  home,  and  the  bells  danced  to  a 
lively  measure  as  they  passed  up  the  valley  in  the  face  of  the 
wind.  The  rising  moon  struggled  through  clouds,  and  but  two 
or  three  stars  were  visible  overhead.  The  night  was  weird 


A    STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  127 

and  sad,  and  in  its  presence  the  trials  and  the  indulgencies  of 
daylight  became  indistinct  dreams.  Woodbury  recalled,  with 
a  feeling  of  intense  repugnance,  the  occurrences  of  the  even- 
ing. "  Better,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  a  home  for  the  soul  with- 
in the  volcanic  rings  of  yonder  barren  moon,  with  no  more  than 
the  privacy  it  may  command  in  this  life,  than  to  be  placed  on 
the  fairest  star  of  the  universe,  and  be  held  at  the  beck  and 
call  of  every  mean  mind  that  darjes  to  juggle  with  sanc- 
tities." 

Plunged  in  these  meditations,  he  did  not  at  first  notice  the 
short,  half-suppressed  spirts  of  laughter  into  which  Bute  occa- 
sionally broke.  The  latter,  at  last,  unable  to  enjoy  his  fun 
alone,  said : 

"When  you  looked  at  me,  Mr.  Max.,  I  thought  I'd  haj 
bust.  I  never  was  so  nigh  givin'  way  in  my  life." 

"What  was  it  ?"  asked  Woodbury. 

"  Well,  you  musn't  say  nothin'.     I  done  it." 

"You!" 

"  Yes,  ha  !  ha  !     But  he's  no  idee  who  it  was." 

"  Did  you  strike  him  in  the  face,  Bute  ?" 

"  Lord,  no  !  He  done  all  the  strikin'  there  was  done  to-night. 
I  fixed  it  better  'n  that.  You  see  I  suspicioned  they'd  git  Ange- 
liny's  spirut  to  playin'  on  the  pyanna,  like  th'  other  time  I  was 
there.  Thinks  I,  I've  a  notion  how  it's  done,  and  if  I'm  right, 
it's  easy  to  show  it.  So,  afore  comin'  into  the  settin'-room,  I 
jist  went  through  the  kitchen,  and  stood  awhile  on  the  hearth, 
to  warm  my  feet,  like.  I  run  one  arm  up  the  chimbley,  when 
nobody  was  lookin',  and  rubbed  my  hand  full  o'  soft  sut. 
Then  I  set  in  the  corner,  and  held  my  arm  behind  me  over  the 
back  o'  the  cheer,  till  the  candle  was  took  out.  Now's  the 
time,  thinks  I,  and  quick  as  wink  I  slips  up  to  the  pyanna — I 
knowed  if  they'd  heerd  me  they'd  think  it  was  a  spirut — and 
rubbed  my  sutty  hand  very  quietly  over  the  black  keys.  I 
didn't  dare  to  bear  on,  but,  thinks  I,  some  '11  come  oiF,  and  he  '11 
be  sure  to  git  it  on  his  hands.  Do  you  see  it,  Mr.  Max.  ? 
When  the  light  come  back,  there  he  was,  solemn  enough,  with 


128  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

a  black  eye,  ha !  ha !  I  couldn't  git  a  sight  of  his  hand, 
though ;  he  shet  his  fist  and  kep'  it  under  the  table." 

Woodbury  at  first  laughed  heartily,  but  his  amusement  soon 
gave  place  to  indignation  at  the  swindle.  "  Why  did  you  not 
expose  the  fellow  ?"  he  asked  Bute. 

"  Oh,  what's  the  use  !  Them  that  believes  wouldn't  believe 
any  the  less,  if  they'd  seen  him  play  the  pyanna  with  their  own 
eyes.  I've  no  notion  o'  runnin'  my  head  into  a  hornet's  nest, 
and  gittin'  well  stung,  and  no  honey  to  show  for  my  pains." 

With  which  sage  observation  Bute  drove  up  to  the  door  of 
Lakeside. 


A   STOBY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  129 


CHAPTER    X. 

IN    WHICH    WE   HEAR   A   DIVERTING   STOET. 

THE  winter  wore  away,  slowly  to  the  inhabitants  of  Ptol- 
emy, rapidly  and  agreeably  to  the  owner  of  Lakeside,  who 
drank  life,  activity,  and  cheerfulness  from  the  steady  cold. 
Every  clay,  while  the  snow  lasted,  his  cutter  was  to  be  seen  on 
the  roads.  Dick  proved  entirely  inadequate  to  his  needs  and 
was  turned  over  to  Bute's  use,  while  the  fastest  horse  out  of 
Fairlamb's  livery-stable  in  Ptolemy  took  his  place.  Wood- 
bury1  s  drives  extended  not  only  to  Anacreon  and  the  neighbor- 
ing village  of  Nero  Corners — a  queer  little  place,  stuck  out  of 
sight  in  a  hollow  of  the  upland, — but  frequently  as  far  as  Tibe- 
rius, which,  being  situated  on  a  branch  of  the  New  York  Cen- 
tral, considered  itself  quite  metropolitan.  The  inhabitants  took 
especial  delight  in  its  two  principal  streets,  wherein  the  houses 
were  jammed  together  as  compactly  as  possible,  and  huge 
brick  blocks,  with  cornices  and  window-caps  of  cast-iron,  star- 
ted up  pompously  between  one-story  buildings  of  wood,  saying 
to  the  country  people,  on  market  days :  "  Behold,  a  city  !" 

The  farmers  around  Ptolemy,  who  believe  that  every  man 
born  in  a  large  town,  and  ignorant  of  either  farming  or  some 
mechanical  employment,  must  necessarily  be  soft,  weak,  and 
effeminate  in  his  nature — "  spoiled,"  so  far  as  true  masculine 
grit  is  concerned — were  not  a  little  astonished  at  Woodbr.ry's 
activity  and  powers  of  endurance.  More  than  once  some  of 
them  had  met  him,  sheeted  with  snow  and  driving  in  the  teeth 
of  a  furious  north-eastern  storm,  yet  singing  merrily  to  himself 
as  if  na  liked  it  all !  It  was  noticed,  too,  that  a  vigorous  red 
was.  driving  away  the  tan  of  Indian  summers  from  his  cheeks, 
6*  *" 


130  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

that  a  listless,  indifferent  expression,  which  at  first  made  them 
say  "  he  has  sleepy  eyes,"  had  vanished  from  those  organs,  as 
if  a  veil  had  been  withdrawn,  leaving  them  clear  and  keen, 
with  a  cheerful,  wide-awake  nature  looking  out.  Thus, 
although  his  habitual  repose  of  manner  remained,  it  no  longer 
impressed  the  people  as  something  foreign  and  uncomfortable  ; 
and  the  general  feeling  towards  him,  in  spite  of  the  attacks  of 
Mr.  Grindle  and  the  insinuations  of  Seth  Wattles,  was  respect- 
ful and  friendly.  Bute,  who  was  a  confirmed  favorite  among 
the  people,  would  suffer  no  word  to  be  said  against  his  master, 
and  went  so  far  as  to  take  a  respectable  man  by  the  throat,  in 
the  oyster-cellar  under  the  Ptolemy  House,  for  speaking  of 
him  as  a  "  stuck-up  aristocrat." 

That  part  of  a  man's  life  which  springs  from  his  physical 
temperament  seemed,  in  Woodbury's  case,  to  have  stood  still 
during  his  sojourn  abroad.  After  the  tropical  torpidity  of  his 
system  had  been  shaken  off,  he  went  back  ten  years  in  the 
sudden  refreshment  of  his  sensations.  The  delicate  cuticle  of 
youth,  penetrated  with  the  finer  nerves  which  acknowledge 
every  touch  of  maturing  existence  as  a  pleasure,  was  partially 
restored.  The  sadness  engendered  by  hard  experience,  the 
scorn  which  the  encounter  with  human  meanness  and  selfish- 
ness left  behind,  the  half  contemptuous  pity  which  the  pride 
of  shallow  brains  provoked — these  were  features  of  his  nature, 
which,  impressed  while  it  was  yet  plastic,  were  now  too  firmly 
set  to  be  erased ;  but  they  were  overlaid  for  the  time  by  the 
joyous  rush  of  physical  sensation.  His  manner  lost  that  first 
gravity  which  suggested  itself  even  in  his  most  relaxed  and 
playful  moods ;  he  became  gay,  brilliant,  and  bantering,  and 
was  the  life  of  the  circles  in  which  he  moved.  As  the  owner 
of  Lakeside,  all  circles,  of  course,  were  open  to  him ;  but  he 
soon  discovered  the  most  congenial  society  and  selected  it, 
without  regard  to  the  distinctions  which  prevailed  in  Ptolemy. 
As  no  standard  of  merely  social  value  was  recognized,  the 
little  community  was  divided  according  to  the  wealth,  or  the 
religious  views  of  its  members  ;  whence  arose  those  jealousies 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  131 

and  rivalries  which  the  Great  Sewing-Union  had  for  a  time 
suppressed.  Woodbury  SOOQ  perceived  this  fact,  and  deter- 
mined, at  the  start,  to  preserve  his  social  independence. 
Neither  of  the  circles  could  complain  of  being  neglected,  yet 
neither  could  claim  exclusive  possession  of  him.  He  took  tea 
twice  in  one  week  with  the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles,  and  the  heart 
of  Miss  Legrand,  the  clergyman's  sister-in-law,  began  to  be 
agitated  by  a  vague  hope  ;  but,  in  a  few  days  afterwards,  he 
accompanied  the  Misses  Smith  (Seventh-day  Baptists)  on  a 
sleighing  party  to  Atauga  City,  and  was  seen,  on  the  follow- 
ing Sunday,  to  enter  the  Cimmerian  church. 

Between  the  Waldos  and  himself,  a  sincere  friendship  had 
grown  up.  The  parson  and  his  wife,  possessed,  in  common 
with  Woodbury,  a  basis  of  healthy  common  sense,  which,  in 
spite  of  the  stubborn  isolation  of  their  sect,  made  them  tole- 
rant. They  had  no  idea  of  turning  life  into  a  debating-school, 
and  could  hear  adverse  opinions  incidentally  dropped,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  without  considering  that  each  word 
was  thrown  down  as  a  gage  of  combat.  Hence,  Woodbury 
found  no  pleasanter  house  than  theirs,  in  all  his  rounds,  and  the 
frank  way  in  which  he  occasionally  claimed  their  scanty  hospi- 
tality was  so  much  like  that  of  a  brother,  that  the  parson  de- 
clared to  his  wife,  it  expressed  his  idea  of  Christian  society.  I 
am  afraid  I  shall  injure  Mr.  Waldo's  reputation,  but  I  am 
bound  to  state  that  Woodbury  was  the  last  man  whom  he 
would  have  attempted  to  secure,  as  a  proselyte. 

One  evening  in  March,  after  the  winter  had  begun  to  melt 
away  on  the  long  hill  sweeping  from  the  eastern  valley  around 
to  Lakeside,  a  little  party  accidentally  assembled  in  Mrs. 
Waldo's  parlor.  Since  the  proceeds  of  the  Fair  had  enabled 
her  to  cover  its  walls  with  a  cheap  green  paper,  and  to  substitute 
a  coarse  carpet  of  the  same  color  for  the  tattered  thing  which 
she  had  transferred  to  her  bed-room,  the  apartment  was  vastly 
improved.  The  horse-hair  sofa  and  chairs,  it  is  true,  had  per- 
formed a  great  deal  of  service,  but  they  were  able  to  do  it ; 
the  sheet-iron  stove  gave  out  a  comfortable  warmth  ;  and  the 


132  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

one  treasure  of  the  parsonage,  a  melodeon,  which  did  the 
duty  of  an  organ  on  Sundays,  was  in  tolerable  tune.  Hannah 
Thurston  contributed  a  vase  of  grasses,  exquisitely  arranged, 
which  obliged  Mrs.  Waldo  to  buy  a  plaster  bracket  from  an 
itinerant  Italian.  She  could  ill  afford  to  spare  the  half-dollar 
which  it  cost — and,  indeed,  most  of  the  women  in  her 
husband's  congregation  shook  their  heads  and  murmured : 
"  Vanity,  vanity !"  when  they  saw  it — but  a  little  self-denial  in 
her  housekeeping,  which  no  one  else  than  herself  ever  knew, 
reconciled  the  deed  to  her  conscience.  Woodbury  brought  to 
her  from  New  York  an  engraving  of  Ary  Scheffer's  "  Christus 
Consolator,"  which  not  only  gave  her  great  delight,  but  was 
of  service  in  a  way  she  did  not  suspect.  It  hung  opposite  to 
the  grasses,  and  thus  thoroughly  counterbalanced  their  pre- 
sumed "  vanity,"  in  the  eyes  of  Cimmerian  visitors.  Indeed, 
they  were  not  sure  but  a  moral  effect  was  intended,  and  this 
uncertainty  stopped  the  remarks  which  might  otherwise  have 
spread  far  and  wide. 

The  party  in  Mrs.  Waldo's  parlor  was  assembled  by  acci- 
dent, we  have  said;  but  not  entirely  so.  -Hannah  Thurston 
had  been  invited  to  tea  by  the  hostess,  and  Woodbury  by  Mr. 
Waldo,  who  had  met  him  in  the  streets  of  Ptolemy.  This 
coincidence  was  unintentional,  although  not  unwelcome  to  the 
hosts,  who,  liking  both  their  guests  heartily,  could  not  account 
for  the  evident  prejudice  of  the  one  and  the  indifference  of 
the  other.  Mrs.  Waldo  had  long  since  given  up,  as  insane, 
her  first  hope  of  seeing  the  two  drawn  together  by  mutual 
magnetism ;  all  she  now  desired  was  to  establish  an  entente 
cordiale,  since  the  entente  $  amour  could  never  be.  On  this 
occasion,  the  parties  behaved  towards  each  other  with  such 
thorough  courtesy  and  propriety,  that,  had  Hannah  Thurston 
been  any  other  woman,  Mrs.  Waldo  would  have  suspected  the 
existence  of  an  undying  enmity. 

After  tea  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Merryfield  made  their  appearance. 
They  had  come  to  Ptolemy  to  attend  a  lecture  on  Temperajace 
by  Abiram  Stokes,  a  noted  orator  of  the  cause,  who,  however, 


A   STORY    OP    AMERICAN   LIFE.  133 

failed  to  arrive.  Seth  Wattles  presently  followed,  apparently 
by  accident,  but  really  by  design.  He  had  ascertained  where 
Hannah  intended  to  pass  the  evening,  from  the  widow  Tburs- 
ton's  little  servant-maid,  whom  he  waylaid  as  she  was  coming 
out  of  the  grocery-store,  and  did  not  scruple  to  thrust  himself 
upon  the  company.  His  self-complacency  was  a  little  dis- 
turbed by  the  sight  of  Woodbury,  whose  discomfiture,  during 
the  evening,  he  mentally  resolved  to  accomplish. 

His  victim,  however,  was  in  an  unusually  cheerful  mood,  and 
every  arrow  which  the  indignant  Seth  shot,  though  feathered 
to  the  barb  with  insinuation,  flew  wide  of  the  mark.  Wood- 
bury  joined  in  denunciation  of  the  opium  traffic  ;  he  trampled 
on  the  vices  of  pride,  hypocrisy,  and  selfishness  ;  he  abhorred 
intemperance,  hated  oppression,  and  glorified  liberty.  But  he 
continually  brought  the  conversation  back  to  its  key-note  of 
playful  humor,  cordially  seconded  by  Mrs.  Waldo,  whose  only 
fault,  in  the  eyes  of  her  reforming  friends,  was  that  she  had 
no  taste  for  serious  discussion.  Seth,  finally,  having  exhausted 
his  quiver,  began  to  declaim  against  the  corrupting  influence 
of  cities. 

"  It  is  time  that  hackneyed  superstition  were  given  up,"  said 
Woodbury.  "  Everybody  repeats,  after  poor  old  Cowper, 
'  God  made  the  country  and  man  made  the  town  ;'  therefore, 
one  is  divine,  and  the  other — the  opposite.  As  if  God  had  no 
part  in  that  human  brain  and  those  human  affections,  out  of 
which  spring  Art,  and  Discovery,  and  the  A'aried  fabric  of 
Society  !  As  if  man  had  no  part  in  making  Nature  attractive 
and  enjoyable  to  us !" 

"  Cities  are  created  by  the  selfishness  of  man,"  cried  Seth,  a 
liUle  pompously. 

"And  farms,  I  suppose,  are  created  entirely  by  benevo- 
lence!" retorted  Woodbury,  laughing.  "You  Reformer's 
have  the  least  cause  to  complain  of  cities.  You  got  your 
Temperance  from  Baltimore,  and  your  Abolition  from  Bos- 
ton," 

"That   proves  nothing:    there  was  one  just  man    even  in 


134  HANNAH  THTJKSTON: 

Sodom !"  exclaimed  Seth,  determined  not  to  be  put  down 
"  But,  of  course,  people  who  think  fashion  more  important 
than  principle,  will  always  admire  a  city  life." 

"  Yes,  it  is  Fashion,"  added  Mrs.  Merryfield,  who  was  un- 
usually dyspeptic  that  evening — "it  is  Fashion  that  has  im- 
peded the  cause  of  woman.  Fashion  is  the  fetters  which 
chains  her  down  as  the  slave  of  man.  How  can  she  know  her 
rights,  when  she  is  educated,  as  a  child,  to  believe  that  Dress 
is  her  Doom  ?" 

"  If  you  were  familiar  with  cities,  Mrs.  Merryfield,"  said 
Woodbury,  "  you  would  find  that  they  admit  of  the  nearest 
approach  to  social  independence.  Fashion  is  just  as  rigid  in 
Ptolemy  as  it  is  in  New  York ;  among  the  Hottentots  or  Dig- 
ger Indians,  far  more  so.  Not  only  that,  but  Fashion  is 
actually  necessary  to  keep  us  from  falling  into  chaos.  Suppose 
there  were  no  such  thing,  and  you  and  Mr.  Merryfield  lived  in 
tents,  dressed  in  oriental  costume,  while  Mr.  Waldo  preached 
in  feathers  and  war-paint,  to  Miss  Thurston,  in  a  complete  suit 
of  steel  armor,  Mr.  Wattles  with  Chinese  pig-tail  and  fan,  and 
myself  in  bag- wig,  powder,  and  ruffles !" 

The  hearty  laughter  which  followed  this  suggestion  did  not 
silence  Seth.  "  It  is  not  a  subject  for  frivolity,"  he  exclaimed ; 
"  you  cannot  deny  that  Fashion  corrupts  the  heart  and  de- 
stroys all  the  better  impulses  of  human  nature." 

"  I  do  deny  it,"  replied  Woodbury,  whose  unusual  patience 
was  nearly  exhausted.  "  All  sweeping,  undiscriminating  asser- 
tions contain  much  that  is  both  false  and  absurd,  and  yours  is 
no  exception.  The  foundation  of  character  lies  deeper  than 
external  customs.  The  honor  of  man,  the  virtue  of  woman, 
the  pure  humanity  of  both,  is  not  affected  by  the  cut  or  colors 
of  their  dress.  If  the  race  is  so  easily  corrupted  as  one  might 
infer  from  your  assertions,  how  can  you  ever  expect  to  suc- 
ceed with  your  plans  of  reform  ?" 

"I  should  not  expect  it,"  interposed  Mrs.  Merryfield,  "if  I 
had  to  depend  on  the  women  that  worships  the  Moloch  of 
fashion.  Why,  if  I  was  the  noblest  and  wisest  of  my  sex, 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  135 

they'd   turn  up  their  noses  at  me,  unless  I  lived   in   Fifth 
Avenue." 

A  sweet,  serious  smile,  betraying  that  breath  of  dried  roses 
which  greets  us  as  we  open  some  forgotten  volume  of  the 
past,  stole  over  Woodbury's  face.  His  voice,  also,  when 
he  spoke,  betrayed  the  change.  Some  memory,  suddenly 
awakened,  had  banished  the  present  controversy  from  his 
mind.  -.-4§. . 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  he,  slowly,  addressing  Mrs.  Waldo, 
rather  than  the  speaker,  "  how  a  new  life,  like  mine  in  India, 
can  make  one  forget  what  has  gone  before  it.  In  this  mo- 
ment, a  curious  episode  of  my  youth  suddenly  comes  back  to 
me,  distinct  as  life,  and  I  wonder  how  it  could  ever  have  been 
forgotten.  Shall  I  give  you  a  story  in  place  of  an  argument, 
Mrs.  Merryfield  ?  Perhaps  it  may  answer  for  both.  But  if 
you  can't  accept  it  in  that  light,  you  may  have  the  last  word." 

"  Pray  tell  us,  by  all  means !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 

Woodbury  looked  around.  Hannah  Thurston,  meeting  his 
questioning  glance,  silently  nodded.  Seth  was  sullen  and  gave 
no  sign.  Mrs.  Merryfield  answered,  "  I'd  like  to  hear  it,  well 
enough,  I'm  sure,"  whereto  her  husband  added :  "  So  would 
I,  as — as  it  were."  Thus  encouraged,  Woodbury  began : 

"  It  happened  after  my  father's  death,  and  before  I  left  New 
York  for  Calcutta.  I  was  not  quite  twenty  when  he  died,  and 
his  bankruptcy  left  me  penniless,  just  at  the  time  of  life  when 
such  a  condition  is  most  painfully  felt.  In  my  case  it  was 
worse  than  usual,  because  so  utterly  unexpected,  and  my 
education  had  in  no  way  prepared  me  to  meet  it.  Every  thing 
went :  house,  furniture,  library,  and  even  those  domestic  trifles 
which  are  hardest  to  part  with.  A  few  souvenirs  of  my 
mother  were  saved,  and  a  friend  of  the  family  purchased  and 
gave  to  me  my  father's  watch.  My  brother-in-law  was  unable 
to  help  me,  because  he  was  greatly  involved  in  the  ruin.  He 
sent  my  sister  and  their  children  to  live  in  a  cheap  New  Jer- 
sey village,  while  he  undertook  a  journey  to  New  Orleans,  in 
the  hope  of  retrieving  his  position  by  a  lucky  stroke  of 


136  HA2TOAH   THTJRSTCXN"  I 

business.  Thus,  within  a  month  after  the  funeral  of  ray 
father,  I  found  myself  alone,  poor,  and  homeless.  It  was  in 
1837,  and  the  great  financial  crash  was  just  beginning  to 
thunder  in  men's  ears.  My  father's  friends  were  too  much 
concerned  about  their  own  interests  to  care  especially  for 
mine.  It,  was  no  single  case  of  misfortune :  there  were  ex- 
amples equally  hard,  on  all  sides,  very  soon. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  was  not  suffered  to  become  a  vagabond. 
A  subordinate  clerkship  was  procured  for  me,  at  a  salary  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year  I  was  ignorant  of 
business,  for  my  father  had  intended  that  I  should  study  Law, 
after  completing  my  collegiate  course,  and  the  character  of 
my  mind  was  not  well  adapted  for  commercial  life.  The 
salary,  small  as  it  was,  fully  equalled  the  value  of  my  services, 
and  I  should  have  made  it  suffice  to  meet  my  wants,  if  I  had 
received  it  punctually.  But  my  employer  so  narrowly  escaped 
ruin  during  the  crisis  that  he  was  often  unable  to  pay  me,  or 
my  fellow-clerks,  our  monthly  wages,  and  I,  who  had  no  little 
hoard  to  draw  upon,  like  the  others,  sometimes  suffered  the 
most  painful  embarrassment.  I  have  frequently,  this  winter, 
heard  the  praises  of  a  vegetable  diet.  I  have  some  right  to 
give  my  opinion  on  the  subject,  as  I  tried  the  experiment  for 
two  months  at  a  time,  and  must  say  that  it  totally  failed. 

"  I  was  too  proud  to  borrow  money,  at  such  times,  and  was, 
moreover,  exceedingly  sensitive  lest  my  situation  should  become 
known.  The  boarding-house,  where  I  first  made  my  home,  be- 
came uncomfortable,  because  I  was  not  always  ready  with  iny 
money  on  Saturday  morning.  Besides,  it  was  a  cheap  place,  kept 
by  an  old  woman  with  two  sentimental  daughters,  who  wore 
their  hair  in  curls  and  always  smelt  of  sassafras  soap.  There  were 
various  reasons  which  you  will  understand,  without  my  telling 
you,  why  my  residence  there  grew  at  last  to  be  insufferable.  I 
accidentally  discovered  that  the  owner  of  a  corner  grocery  in 
the  Bowery  had  a  vacant  room  over  his  store,  with  a  separate 
entrance  from  the  cross-street,  and  that  he  could  supply  me,  at 
a  cheap  rent,  with  the  most  necessary  furniture.  The  bargain 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  137 

was  soon  made.  The  room  and  furniture  cost  me  a  dollar  a  week, 
and  my  food  could  be  regulated  according  to  my  means.  The 
common  eating-houses  supplied  me,  now  and  then,  with  a  meal, 
but  I  oftenest  bought  my  bread  at  the  baker's,  and  filled  my 
pitcher  from  the  hydrant  in  the  back-yard.  I  was  also  so  far 
independent  that  I  could  choose  my  associates,  and  regulate 
my  personal  habits.  I  assure  you  that  I  never  washed  my 
face  with  sassafras  soap."  9  , 

Mrs.  Waldo  laughed  heartily  at  this  declaration,  and  Mrs. 
Merryfield  innocently  exclaimed:  "Why,  I'm  sure  it's  very 
good  for  the  skin." 

"  Meanwhile,"  Woodbury  continued,  "  I  still  kept  up  inter- 
course with  the  circle  in  which  my  father  moved,  and  which, 
at  that  time,  would  have  been  called  '  fashionable.'  Some 
families,  it  is  true,  felt  a  restraint  towards  me  which  I  was  too 
sensitive  not  to  discover.  The  daughters  had  evidently  been 
warned  against  too  great  a  display  of  sympathy.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  made  new  and  delightful  acquaintances,  of  equal  social 
standing,  by  whom  I  was  treated  with  a  delicacy  and  a  gener- 
ous consideration  which  I  shall  never  forget.  In  fact,  what- 
ever Christian  respect  I  may  exhibit,  in  my  intercourse  with 
others,  I  learned  from  those  families.  You  may  know  what 
they  were,  Mr.  Waldo,  by  imagining  how  you  would  treat  rne, 
now,  if  I  should  suddenly  lose  my  property. 

"  I  had  been  living  in  this  manner  for  a  year,  or  thereabouts, 
when  the  main  incident  of  my  story  occurred.  In  the  circle 
where  I  was  most  intimate,  there*  were  two  or  three  wealthy 
bachelors,  who  had  handsome  residences  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Bleecker  street  (there  was  no  Fifth  Avenue  then).  These 
gentlemen  had,  in  turn,  given  entertainments  during  the  win- 
ter, arid  had  taken  such  pains  to  make  them  agreeable  to  the 
young  ladies,  that  they  constituted  a  feature  of  the  season. 
The  company  was  small  and  select,  on  these  occasions,  two  or 
three  married  pairs  being  present  for  the-  sake  of  propriety, 
but  no  society  was  ever  more  genial,  joyous,  and  unconstrained 
in  tone.  At  the  last  entertainment,  our  host  finished  by  giving 


138  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

us  a  choice  supper,  to  which  we  sat  down  in  order  to  enjoy  it 
thoroughly.  I  have  had  a  prejudice  against  all  ambulatory 
suppers  since.  There  were  songs  and  toasts,  and  fun  of  the 
purest  and  most  sparkling  quality.  At  last,  one  of  the  young 
ladies  said,  with  a  mock  despair:  '  So,  this  is  the  end  of  our 
bachelor  evenings.  What  a  pity !  I  am  ready  to  wish  that 
you  other  gentlemen  had  remained  single,  for  our  sakes.  You 
know  you  cannot  give  us  such  delightful  parties  as  this.' 

" '  Are  there  really  no  more  bachelors  ?'  exclaimed  Miss 
Remington,  a  tall,  beautiful  girl,  who  sat  opposite  to  me^. 
'  Must  we  sing :  Lochaber  no  more  ?  But  that  will  never  do : 
some  married  man  must  retract  his  vow,  for  our  sakes.' 

"  One  of  the  latter,  looking  around  the  table,  answered : 
4  Let  us  be  certain,  first,  that  we  are  at  the  end  of  the  list. 
Belknap,  Moulton,  Parks — yes — but  stop !  there's  Woodbury  ! 
too  modest  to  speak  for  himself.' 

" '  Woodbury  !  Woodbury  !'  they  all  shouted,  the  young 
ladies  insisting  that  I  should  and  must  entertain  them  in  my 
turn.  My  heart  came  into  my  throat.  I  attempted  to  laugh 
off  the  idea  as  a  jest,  but  they  were  too  joyously  excited  to 
heed  me.  It  was  a  cruel  embarrassment,  for  none  of  the  com- 
pany even  knew  where  I  lived.  My  letters  were  always  sent 
to  the  office  of  my  employer.  Moreover,  I  had  but  five  dol- 
lars, and  had  made  a  resolution  never  to  live  in  advance  of  my 
wages.  What  was  I  to  do  ?  The  other  guests,  ignorant  of 
my  confusion,  or  not  heeding  it,  were  already  talking  of  the 
entertainment  as  settled,  and  began  to  suggest  the  evening 
when  it  should  take  place.  I  was  meditating,  in  a  sort  of  des- 
peration, whether  I  should  not  spring  up  and  rush  out  of  the 
house,  when  I  caught  Miss  Remington's  eye.  I  saw  that  she 
understood  my  embarrassment,  and  wanted  to  help  me.  Her 
look  said  'Accept!' — a  singular  fancy  darted  through  my 
mind,  and  I  instantly  regained  my  self-possession.  I  informed 
the  company  that  I  should  be  very  happy  to  receive  them,  and 
that  my  entertainment  should  bear  the  same  proportion  to  my 
means  as  that  of  our  host.  The  invitations  were  given  and 


A    STOEY   OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  139 

accepted  on  the  spot,  and  an  evening  selected  from  the  follow- 
ing week. 

"  4But  where  is  it  to  be  ?'  asked  one  of  the  young  ladies. 

" '  Oh,  he  will  let  you  know  in  time,'  said  Miss  Remington, 
who  took  occasion  to  whisper  to  me,  before  the  company  sepa- 
rated :  '  Come  to  me  first,  and  talk  the  matter  over.' 

"  I  called  upon  her  the  next  evening,  and  frankly  confided 
to  her  my  situation  and  means.  She  w#s  three  or  four  years 
older  than  myself,  and  possessed  so  much  natural  judgment 
and  good  sense,  in  addition  to  her  social  experience,  that  I  had 
the  utmost  confidence  in  her  advice.  A  woman  of  less  tact 
would  have  offered  to  assist  me,  and  that  would  have  been  an 
end  of  the  matter.  She  saw  at  once  what  was  best  to  be  done, 
and  we  very  soon  agreed  upon  the  preparations.  Every  thing 
was  to  be  kept  secret  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  whom  she 
determined  to  mystify  to  her  heart's  content.  She  informed 
them  that  the  entertainment  would  be  unlike  any  thing  they 
had  ever  seen ;  that  the  place  was  not  to  be  divulged,  but  the 
guests  were  to  assemble  at  her  father's  house  on  the  appointed 
evening;  and  that  they  must  so  dress  as  to  do  the  highest 
honor  to  my  hospitality.  The  cariosity  of  all  was  greatly  ex- 
cited ;  the  affair  was  whispered  about,  and  others  endeavored 
to  join  the  party,  but  it  was  strictly  confined  to  the  original 
company. 

"  On  my  part  I  was  not  idle.  Adjoining  my  chamber  was 
a  large  room,  in  which  the  grocer  kept  some  of  his  stores. 
This  room  I  thoroughly  cleaned,  removing  some  of  the  articles, 
but  retaining  all  the  kegs  and  boxes.  The  grocer,  an  honest, 
amiable  man,  supposed  that  I  was  preparing  a  little  festival 
for  some  of  my  relatives,  and  gave  me  the  free  use  of  his  ma- 
terial. I  arranged  the  kegs  and  boxes  around  the  walls, 
and  covered  them  with  coarse  wrapping-paper,  to  serve  as 
seats.  The  largest  box  was  stationed  in  a  corner,  with  a  keg 
on  the  top,  as  a  post  for  the  single  musician  I  had  engaged — • 
an  old  Irish  fiddler,  whom  I  picked  up  in  the  street  I  went 
out  towards  Yorkville  and  brought  home  a  bundle  of  cedar 


140  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

boughs,  with  which  I  decorated  the  walls,  constructing  a  large 
green  word — WELCOME — above  the  fireplace.  I  borrowed 
twelve  empty  bottles  in  which  I  placed  as  many  tallow  candles, 
and  disposed  them  about  the  room,  on  extemporized  brackets. 
For  my  own  chamber,  which  was  designed  to  answer  as  a  dres- 
sing-room for  the  ladies,  I  made  candlesticks  out  of  the  largest 
turnips  I  could  find  in  the  market.  In  fact,  I  purposely  remov- 
ed some  little  conveniences  I  possessed,  and  invented  substi- 
tutes of  the  most  grotesque  kind.  I  became  so  much  inte- 
rested in  my  preparations,  and  in  speculating  upon  the  effect 
they  would  produce,  that  I  finally  grew  as  impatient  as  my 
guests  for  the  evening  to  arrive. 

"  Nine  o'clock  was  the  hour  appointed,  and,  punctually  to  the 
minute,  five  carriages  turned  out  of  the  Bowery  and  drew  up, 
one  after  another,  at  the  side-door.  I  was  at  the  entrance,  in 
complete  evening  dress,  with  white  gloves  (washed),  to  receive 
my  guests.  I  held  a  tray,  upon  which  there  were  as  many 
candles  fixed  in  large  turnips,  as  there  were  gentlemen  in  .the 
party,  and  begged  each  one  to  take  a  light  and  follow  me. 
The  ladies,  magnificently  dressed  in  silks  and  laces,  rustled 
up  the  narrow  staircase,  too  much  amazed  to  speak.  As  I 
threw  open  the  door  of  my  saloon,  the  fiddler,  perched  near 
the  ceiling,  struck  up  '  Hail  to  the  Chief.'  The  effect,  I  as- 
sure you,  was  imposing.  Miss  Remington  shook  hands  with 
me,  heartily,  exclaiming :  '  Admirable  !  You  could  not  have 
done  better.'  To  be  sure,  there  were  some  exclamations  of 
surprise,  and  perhaps  one  or  two  blank  faces — but  only  for  a 
moment.  The  fun  was  seen  immediately,  and  the  evening 
commenced  with  that  delightful  social  abandon  in  which  othei 
evenings  generally  end.  The  fiddler  played  a  Scotch  reel,  and 
the  couples  took  their  places  on  the  floor.  Two  of  the  older 
gentlemen  were  familiar  with  both  the  Scotch  and  Irish  dances, 
and  the  younger  ladies  set  about  learning  them  with  a  spirit 
which  charmed  the  old  musician's  heart.  The  superb  silks 
floated  about  the  room  to  the  jolliest  tunes,  or  rested,  in  the 
intervals,  on  the  grocer's  kegs,  and  once  a  string  of  pearls 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  141 

broke  and  rolled  into  the  fireplace.  After  a  while,  the  gro- 
cer's boy,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  made  his  appearance  with  a  large 
market-basket  on  his  arm,  containing  a  mixture  of  cakes, 
raisins,  and  almonds.  He  was  in  great  demand,  especially 
as  I  furnished  no  plates.  It  was  then  agreed  to  put  the 
basket  on  a  keg,  as  a  permanent  refreshment-table,  and  the  boy 
brought  in  lemonade,  in  all  kinds  of  drinking-vessels.  I  had 
taken  some  pains  to  have  them  all  of  different  patterns.  There 
were  tin-cups,  stoneware  mugs,  tea-cups,  bowls,  and  even  a 
cologne  bottle.  By  this  time  all  had  fully  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  affair:  I  was  not  only  at  ease  but  jubilant.  The 
old  fiddler  played  incessantly.  Miss  Remington  sang  'The 
Exile  of  Erin'  to  his  accompaniment,  and  the  old*  man  cried  : 
we  had  speeches,  toasts,  recitations :  we  revived  old  games  : 
we  told  fortunes  with  cards  (borrowed  from  the  porter-house 
across  the  way) :  in  short,  there  was  no  bound  to  the  extent  of 
our  merriment,  and  no  break  in  its  flow. 

"It  occurred  to  some  one,  at  last,  to  look  at  his  watch. — 
*  God  bless  me !  it's  three  o'clock  !'  he  cried.  Three ! — and  six 
hours  had  already  passed  away  !  The  ladies  tore  up  my  green 
word  '  WELCOME,'  to  get  sprigs  of  cedar  as  souvenirs  of  the 
evening :  some  even  carried  off  the  turnip-candlesticks.  Miss 
Remington  laughed  in  her  sleeve  at  the  latter.  '  I  know  bet- 
ter than  to  do  that,'  she  said  to  me ;  '  turnips  have  a  habit  of 
rotting.'  It  was  unanimously  voted  that  I  had  given  them 
the  best  entertainment  of  the  season ;  and  I  am  sure,  for  my 
own  part,  that  none  had  been  so  heartily  enjoyed. 

"  The  story,  as  you  may  suppose,  soon  became  known ;  and 
it  was  only  by  sheer  resolution  that  I  escaped  a  social  popu- 
larity which  might  have  turned  my  head  at  that  age.  I  was 
even  asked  to  repeat  the  entertainment,  so  that  others  might 
have  a  chance  to  participate  in  it ;  but  I  knew  that  its  whole 
success  lay  in  the  spontaneous  inspiration  wrhich  prompted, 
and  the  surprise  which  accompanied  it.  The  incident,  how- 
ever, proved  to  be  one  of  the  influences  to  which  I  must  attri- 
bute my  subsequent  good  fortune." 


142  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

"  Pray,  how  was  that  ?"  asked  Mr.  Waldo. 

"My  employer  heard,  in  some  way  or  other,  that  I  had 
given  a  splendid  entertainment.  Knowing  my  means,  and 
fearing  that  I  had  fallen  into  reckless  habits,  he  called  me  into 
his  private  office  and  very  seriously  asked  for  an  explana- 
tion of  my  conduct.  I  related  the  circumstances,  precisely  as 
they  had  occurred.  He  easily  ascertained  that  my  story  was 
true,  and  from  that  day  forward  took  an  increased  interest  in 
me,  to  which  I  must  attribute,  in  part,  my  rapid  advancement. 
Now,  if  there  is  any  moral  in  all  this,  I  think  you  can  easily 
find  it.  If  there  is  not,  perhaps  you  have  been  diverted 
enough  to  pardon  me  for  talking  so  much  about  myself." 

"  Why,  it's  delightful !  I  never  heard  any  thing  better !" 
cried  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  It  shows,  though,"  interposed  Mrs.  Merryfield,  "  how  in- 
consistent those  fashionable  women  are.  They  can  be  coura- 
geous and  independent  for  the  sake  of  pleasure,  but  they'd  be 
horrified  at  venturing  so  far  for  the  sake  of  principle." 

"You  are  hardly  just,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  addressing 
the  last  speaker ;  "  Mr.  Woodbury's  story  has  a  moral,  and  I 
am  very  glad  he  has  given  it  to  us." 

Seth  Wattles  had  been  interested  and  amused,  in  spite  of 
himself,  but  he  was  not  the  man  to  acknowledge  it.  He  was 
endeavoring  to  find  some  point  at  which  he  might  carp,  with 
a  show  of  reason,  when  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth  entered  the  room, 
and  presently  Bute  Wilson,  who  had  driven  from  Lakeside  to 
take  Woodbury  home. 

"Mr.  Max.!"  cried  the  latter,  whose  face  had  a  flushed, 
strange  expression,  "Diamond  won't  stand  alone,  and  I  muse 
go  out  and  hold  him  till  you're  ready." 

"  I'll  come  at  once,  then,"  said  Woodbury,  and  took  leave 
of  the  company. 


A   STOUT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  143 


CHAPTER  XL 

CONTAINING  TWO   DECLARATIONS,  AND   THE  ANSWERS  THERETO. 

As  Bute,  on  entering  the  village,  passed  the  Widow  Thurs- 
ton's  cottage,  he  noticed  a  dim  little  figure  emerging  from  the 
gate.  Although  the  night  was  dark,  and  the  figure  was  s^? 
muffled  as  to  present  no  distinct  outline,  Bute's  eyes  were 
particularly  sharp.  Like  the  sculptor,  he  saw  the  statue  in 
the  shapeless  block.  Whether  it  was  owing  to  a  short  jerk- 
ing swing  in  the  gait,  or  an  occasional  sideward  toss  of  what 
seemed  to  be  the  head,  he  probably  did  not  reflect ;  but  he 
immediately  drew  the  rein  on  Diamond,  and  called  out  "  Miss 
Carrie !" 

"  Ah !"  proceeded  from  the  figure,  as  it  stopped,  with  a 
start ;  "  who  is  it  ?" 

Bute  cautiously  drove  near  the  plank  sidewalk,  before 
answering.  Then  he  said :  "  It's  me." 

"  Oh,  Bute,"  exclaimed  Miss  Dilworth,  "  how  you  fright- 
ened me  !  Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  home.  I'm  a-goin'  to  fetch  Mr.  Max.,  but  there's  no 
hurry.  I  say,  Miss  Carrie,  wouldn't  you  like  to  take  a  little 
sleigh-ride  ?  Where  are  you  goin'  to  ?" 

"  To  Waldo's." 

"  Why,  so  am  I !     Jump  in,  and  I'll  take  you  along." 

Miss  Dilworth,  nothing  loath,  stepped  from  the  edge  of  the 
sidewalk  into  the  cutter,  and  took  her  seat.  Bute  experienced 
a  singular  feeling  of  comfort,  at  having  the  soft  little  body 
wedged  so  closely  beside  him,  with  the  same  wolf-skin  spread 
over  their  mutual  knees.  His  heart  being  on  the  side  next 


144  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

her,  it  presently  sent  a  tingling  warmth  over  his  whole  frame; 
the  sense  of  her  presence  impressed  him  with  a  vague  physical 
delight,  and  he  regretted  that  the  cutter  was  not  so  narrow  as 
to  oblige  him  to  take  her  upon  his  knees.  It  was  less  than 
half  a  mile  to  the  parsonage — about  two  minutes,  as  Diamond 
trotted — and  then  the  doors  of  heaven  would  close  upon  him. 

"  No  I  by  Jimminy !"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  turning 
around  in  the  track,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  upsetting  the 
cutter. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?"  cried  Miss  Dilworth,  a  little  alarmed 
at  this  unexpected  manosuvre. 

"  It  isn't  half  a  drive  for  you,  Carrie,"  Bute  replied.  "  The 
sleddin's  prime,  and  I'll  jist  take  a  circuit  up  the  creek,  and 
across  into  the  South  Road.  We'll  go  it  in  half  an  hour,  and 
there's  plenty  of  time." 

Miss  Dilworth  knew,  better  even  than  if  he  had  tried  to  tell 
her,  that  Bute  was  proud  and  happy  at  having  her  beside 
him.  Her  vanity  was  agreeably  ministered  to ;  she  enjoyed 
sleighing  ;  and,  moreover,  where  was  the  harm  ?  She  would 
not  have  objected,  on  a  pinch,  to  be  driven  through  Ptolemy 
by  Arbutus  Wilson,  in  broad  daylight ;  and  now  it  was  too 
dark  for  either  of  them  to  be  recognized.  So  she  quietly 
submitted  to  what  was,  after  all,  not  a  hard  fate. 

As  they  sped  along  merrily  over  the  bottoms  of  East 
Atauga  Creek,  past  the  lonely,  whispering  elms,  and  the 
lines  of  ghostly  alders  fringing  the  stream,  where  the  air 
struck  their  faces  with  a  damp  cold,  the  young  lady  shud- 
dered. She  pressed  a  little  more  closely  against  Bute,  as  if 
to  make  sure  of  his  presence,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone :  "  I 
should  not  like  to  be  alone,  here,  at  this  hour." 

Poor  Bute  felt  that  the  suspense  of  his  heart  was  no  longer 
to  be  borne.  She  had  played  with  him,  and  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  played  with,  long  enough.  He  would  ask  a 
serious  question  and  demand  a  serious  answer.  His  resolution 
was  fixed,  yet.  now  that  the  moment  had  arrived,  his  tongue  . 
seamed  to  become  paralyzed.  The  words  were  in  his  mind, 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  145 

every  one  of  them — he  had  said  them  over  to  himself,  a  hun- 
dred times — but  there  was  a  muzzle  on  his  mouth  which  pre- 
vented their  being  put  into  sound.  He  looked  at  the  panels 
of  fence  as  they  sped  past,  and  thought,  "  so  much  more  of 
the  road  has  gone,  and  I  have  said  nothing." 

Miss  Dilworth's  voice  was  like  a  palpable  hand  stretched 
out  to  draw  him  from  that  quagmire  of  silence.  "Oh, 
Carrie!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  needn't  be  alone,  anywheres — 
leastways  where  there's  any  thing  to  skeer  or  hurt  you." 

She  understood  him,  and  resumed  her  usual  tactics,  half- 
accepting,  half-defensive.  "  We  can't  help  being  alone  some- 
times, Bute,"  she  answered,  "  and  some  are  born  to  be  alone 
always.  Alone  in  spirit,  you  know;  where  there  is  no  con- 
genial nature." 

"  You're  not  one  o'  them,  Carrie,"  said  Bute,  desperately. 
"  You  know  you're  not  a  genus.  If  you  was,  I  shouldn't  keer 
whether  I  had  your  good-will  or  not.  But  I  want  that,  and 
more'n  that,  because  I  like  you  better  than  any  thing  in  this 
world.  I've  hinted  the  same  many  a  time,  and  you  know  it, 
and  I  don't  want  you  to  turn  it  off  no  longer." 

The  earnestness  of  his  voice  caused  Miss  Dilworth  to  trem- 
ble. There  was  a  power  in  the  man  which  she  feared  she 
could  not  withstand.  Still  he  had  made  no  definite  proposal, 
and  she  was  not  bound  to  answer  more  than  his  words  literally 
indicated. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  like  you,  Bute,"  said  she  ;  "  everybody 
does.  And  you've  always  been  so  kind  and  obliging  towards 
me.1' 

"  Like !  I'd  ruther  you'd  say  hate  than  like.  There's  two 
kinds  o'  likin',  and  one  of  'em's  the  kind  that  doesn't  fit  any- 
body that  comes  along.  Every  man,  Carrie,  that's  wuth  his 
salt,  must  find  a  woman  to  work  for,  and  when  he's  nigh  onto 
thirty,  as  I  am,  he  wants  to  see  a  youngster  growin'  up,  to 
take  his  place  when  he  gits  old.  Otherways,  no  matter  how 
lucky  he  is,  there's  not  much  comfort  to  him  in  livin'.  Now, 
I'm.  awful  seiious  about  this.  I  don't  care  whether  we're  con* 
1 


146  HANNAH   THTJRSTON : 

genial  spirits,  or  not,  but  I  want  you,  Carrie,  for  my  wife. 
You  may  hunt  far  and  wide,  but  you'll  find  nobody  that'll 
keer  for  you  as  I  will.  Perhaps  I  don't  talk  quite  as  fine  as 
some,  but  talkin's  like  the  froth  on  the  creek ;  maybe  it's 
shallow,  and  maybe  it's  deep,  you  can't  tell.  The  heart's  the 
main  thing,  and,  thank  God,  I'm  right  there.  Carrie,  this 
once,  jist  this  once,  don't  trifle  with  me." 

Bute's  voice  became  soft  and  pleading,  as  he  closed.  Miss 
Dilworth  was  moved  at  last ;  he  had  struck  through  her  affec- 
ted sentimentalism,  and  touched  the  small  bit  of  true  womanly 
nature  beneath  it.  But  the  impression  was  too  sudden.  She 
had  not  relinquished  her  ambitious  yearnings ;  she  knew  and 
valued  Bute's  fidelity,  and,  precisely  for  that  reason,  she  felt 
secure  in  seeming  to  decline  it.  She  would  have  it  in  reserve, 
in  any  case,  and  meanwhile,  he  was  too  cheerful  and  light- 
hearted  to  suffer  much  pain  from  the  delay.  Had  he  taken 
her  in  his  arms,  had  he  stormed  her  with  endearing  words, 
had  he  uttered  even  one  sentence  of  the  hackneyed  sentiment 
in  which  she  delighted,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  re- 
sist. But  he  sat  silently  waiting  for  her  answer,  while  the 
horse  slowly  climbed  the  hill  over  which  they  must  pass  to 
reach  the  South  Road  ;  and  in  that  silence  her  vanity  regained 
its  strength. 

"  Carrie?"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Bute?" 

"  You  don't  answer  me." 

"  Oh,  Bute !"  said  she,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  tenderness 
and  coquetry,  "I  don't  know  how.  I  never  thought  you 
were  more  than  half  in  earnest.  And  I'm  not  sure,  after  all, 
that  we  were  meant  for  each  other.  I  like  you  as  well  as  I 
like  anybody,  but — " 

Here  she  paused. 

"  But  you  won't  have  me,  I  s'pose  ?"  said  Bute,  in  a  tone 
that  was  both  bitter  and  sad. 

"I  don't  quite  mean  that,"  she  answered.  "  But  a  woman 
has  so  much  at  stake,  you  know.  She  must  love  more  than  a 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  14? 

man,  IVe  been  told,  before  she  can  give  up  her  name  and  her 
life  to  him.  I  don't  know,  Bute,  whether  I  should  do  right  to 
promise  myself  to  you.  I've  never  thought  of  it  seriously. 
Besides,  you  come  upon  me  so  sudden — you  frightened  me  a 
little,  and  I  really  don't  exactly  know  what  my  own  mind  is." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Bute,  in  a  stern  voice. 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  long  descent 
to  Ptolemy  lay  before  them.  Bute  drew  the  reins  and  held 
the  horse  to  his  best  speed.  Some  inner  prop  of  his  strong 
brtast  seemed  to  give  way  all  at  once.  He  took  the  thick 
end  of  his  woollen  scarf  between  his  teeth  and  stifled  the  con- 
vulsive movements  of  his  throat.  Then  a  sensation  of  heat 
rushed  through  his  brain,  and  the  tears  began  to  roll  rapidly 
down  his  cheeks.  He  was  grateful  for  the  darkness  which  hid 
his  face,  for  the  bells  which  drowned  his  labored  breathing, 
and  for  the  descent  which  shortened  the  rest  of  the  drive.  He 
said  nothing  more,  and  Miss  Dil  worth,  in  spite  of  herself,  was 
awed  by  his  silence.  By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  par- 
sonage he  was  tolerably  calm,  and  the  traces  of  his  passion 
had  disappeared  from  his  face. 

Miss  Dilworth  lingered  while  he  was  fastening  the  horse. 
She  felt,  it  must  be  confessed,  very  uneasy,  and  not  guiltless  of 
what  had  happened.  She  knew  not  how  to  interpret  Bute's 
sudden  silence.  .It  was  probably  anger,  she  thought,  and 
she  would  therefore  lay  the  first  stone  of  a  temple  of  recon- 
ciliation. She  liked  him  too  well  to  lose  him  wholly. 

"  Good-night,  Bute !"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand :  "  you 
are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you  ?'' 

"  No,"  was  his  only  answer,  as  he  took  her  hand.  There 
was  no  eager,  tender  pressure,  as  before,  and  the  tone  of  his 
voice,  to  her  ear,  betrayed  indifference,  which  was  worse  than 
anger. 

After  Woodbury  had  taken  leave,  there  was  a  general  move- 
ment of  departure.  The  sempstress  had  come  to  spend  a  few 
days  with  Mrs.  Waldo,  and  did  not  intend  returning;  it  was 
rather  late,  and  the  Merryfields  took  the  nearest  road  home,  so 


148  HANNAH   THTJESTON  : 

that  Hannah  Thurston  must  have  walked  back,  alone,  to  her 
mother's  cottage,  had  not  Seth  Wattles  been  there  to  escort  her. 
Seth  foresaw  this  duty,  and  inwardly  rejoiced  thereat.  The 
absence  of  Woodbury  restored  his  equanimity  of  temper,  and 
he  was  as  amiably  disposed  as  was  possible  to  his  incoherent 
nature.  He  was  not  keen  enough  to  perceive  the  strong  relief 
into  which  his  shapeless  mind  was  thrown  by  the  symmetry 
and  balance  of  the  man  whom  he  hated — that  he  lost  ground, 
even  in  his  own  circle,  not  merely  from  the  discomfiture  of  the 
moment,  but  far  more  from  that  unconscious  comparison  of  the 
two  which  arose  from  permanent  impressions.  He  was  not 
aware  of  the  powerful  magnetism  which  social  culture  exer- 
cises, especially  upon  minds  fitted,  by  their  honest  yearning 
after  something  better,  to  receive  it  themselves. 

Seth  was  therefore,  without  reason,  satisfied  with  himself  as 
he  left  the  house.  He  had  dared,  at  least,  to  face  this  self- 
constituted  lion,  and  had  found  the  animal  more  disposed  to 
gambol  than  to  bite.  He  flattered  himself  that  his  earnestness 
contrasted  favorably  with  the  levity  whereby  Woodbury  had 
parried  questions  so  important  to  the  human  race.  Drawing 
a  long  breath,  as  of  great  relief,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest !  We  feel  it,  under  this  sky : 
here  the  frivolous  chatter  of  Society  is  hushed." 

Hannah  Thurston  took  his  proffered  arm,  conscious,  as  she 
did  so,  of  a  shudder  of  something  very  like  repugnance.  For 
the  first  time  it  struck  her  that  she  would  rather  hear  the 
sparkling  nothings  of  gay  conversation  than  Sethis  serious 
platitudes.  She  did  not  particularly  desire  his  society,  just 
now,  and  attempted  to  hasten  her  pace,  under  the  pretext  that 
the  night  was  cold. 

Seth,  however,  hung  back.  "  We  do  not  enjoy  the  night  as 
we  ought,"  said  he.  "  It  elevates  and  expands  the  soul.  It  is 
the  time  for  kindred  souls  to  hold  communion." 

"  Scarcely  out  of  doors,  in  winter,  unless  they  are  disembod- 
ied," remarked  Miss  Thurston. 

Seth  was  somewhat  taken  aback.     He  had  not  expected  so 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  149 

light  a  tone  from  so  grave  and  earnest  a  nature.  It  was  un- 
usual with  her,  and  reminded  him,  unpleasantly,  of  Wood- 
bury's  frivolity.  But  he  summoned  new  courage,  and  con- 
tinued : 

"  We  can  say  things  at  night  for  which  we  have  no  courage 
in  daylight.  We  are  more  sincere,  somehow — less  selfish,  you 
know,  and  more  affectionate." 

"  There  ought  to  be  no  such  difference,"  said  she,  mechani- 
cally, and  again  hastening  her  steps. 

"  I  know  there  oughtn't.  And  I  didn't  mean  that  I  wasn't 
as  true  as  ever ;  but — but  there  are  chosen  times  when  our 
souls  are  uplifted  and  approach  each  other.  This  is  such  a 
time,  Hannah.  We  seem  to  be  nearer,  and — and — " 

He  could  get  no  farther.  The  other  word  in  his  mind  was 
too  bold  to  be  used  at  the  outset.  Besides,  having  taken  one 
step,  he  must  allow  her  to  take  the  next :  it  would  make  the 
crisis  easier  "for  both.  But  she  only  drew  her  cloak  more 
closely  around  her,  and  said  nothing. 

"The  influences  of  night  and— other  things,"  he  resumed, 
"render  us  insensible  to  time  and — temperature.  There  is 
one  thing,  at  least,  which  defies  the  elements.  Is  there  not  ?" 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"  Benevolence,  no  doubt,  or  a  duty  so  stern  and  sacred  that 
life  itself  is  subordinate  to  its  performance." 

"Yes,  that's  true — but  I  mean  something  else!"  Seth  ex- 
claimed. "  Something  I  feel,  now,  deep  in  my  buzzum.  Shall 
I  unveil  it  to  your  gaze  ?" 

"I  have  no  right  to  ask  or  accept  your  confidence,"  she 
replied. 

"Yes,  you  have.  One  kindred  soul  has  the  right  to  demand 
every  thing  of  the  other.  I  might  have  -told  you,  long  ago, 
but  I  waited  so  that  you  might  find  it  out  for  yourself,  with- 
out the  necessity  of  words.  Surely  you  must  have  seen  it  in  my 
eyes,  and  heard  it  in  my  voice,  because  every  thing  powerful 
in  us  expresses  itself  somehow  in  spite  of  us.  The  deepest 


150  HAN1STAH   THUESTON  I 

emotions,  you  know,  are  silent;  but  you  understand  my  silence 
now,  don't  you  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  was  more  annoyed  than  surprised  by  this 
declaration.  She  saw  that  a  clear  understanding  could  not  be 
avoided,  and  nerved  herself  to  meet  it.  Her  feeling  of  repug- 
nance to  the  speaker  increased  with  every  word  he  uttered ; 
yet,  if  his  passion  were  genuine  (and  she  had  no  right  to  doubt 
that  it  was  so),  he  was  entitled  at  least  to  her  respect  and  her 
pity.  Still,  he  had  spoken  only  in  vague  terms,  and  she  could 
not  answer  the  real  question.  Why?  Did  she  not  fully  un- 
derstand him  ?  Was  the  shrinking  sense  of  delicacy  in  her 
heart,  which  she  was  unable  to  overcome,  a  characteristic  of 
sex,  separating  her  nature,  by  an  impassable  gulf,  from  that  of 
man  ? 

"  Please  explain  yourself  clearly,  Seth,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  Oh,  don't  your  own  heart  explain  it  for  you  ?  Love  don't 
want  to  be  explained :  it  comes  to  us  of  itself.  See  here — 
we've  been  laboring  together  ever  so  long  in  the  Path  of  Pro- 
gress, and  our  souls  are  united  in  aspirations  for  the  good  of  our 
fellow-men.  All  I  want  is,  that  we  should  now  unite  our  lives 
in  the  great  work.  You  know  I  believe  in  the  equal  rights  of 
Woman,  and  would  never  think  of  subjecting  you  to  the 
tyranny  your  sisters  groan  under.  I  have  no  objection  to 
taking  your  name,  if  you  want  to  make  that  sort  of  a  protest 
against  legal  slavery.  We'll  both  keep  our  independence,  and 
show  to  the  world  the  example  of  a  true  marriage.  Somebody 
must  begin,  you  know,  as  Charles  Macky,  the  glorious  poet  of 
our  cause,  says  in  his  Good  Time  Coming." 

"  Seth,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  with  a  sad,  deliberate  sweet- 
ness in  her  voice,  "  there  is  one  thing,  without  which  there 
should  be  no  union  between  man  and  woman." 

"  What  is  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"Love." 

"  How  ?  I  don't  understand  you.  That  is  the  very  reason 
why " 

"  You  forget,"  she  interrupted,  "  that  love  must  be  recipro- 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  151 

cal.  You  have  taken  it  for  granted  that  I  returned,  in  equal 
measure,  the  feelings  you  have  expressed  towards  me.  Where 
the  fortune  of  a  life  is  concerned,  it  is  best  to  be  frank,  though 
frankness  give  pain.  Seth,  I  do  not,  I  never  can,  give  you 
love.  A  coincidence  of  opinions,  of  hopes  and  aspirations,  is 
not  love.  I  believe  that  you  have  made  this  mistake  in  your 
own  mind,  and  that  you  will,  sooner  or  later,  thank  me  for 
having  revealed  it  to  you.  I  hav^e  never  suspected,  in  you, 
the  existence  of  love  in  its  holiest  and  profoundest  meaning, 
nor  have  I  given  you  reason  to  suppose  that  my  sentiments 
towards  you  were  other  than  those  of  friendly  sympathy  and 
good-will.  I  deeply  regret  it,  if  you  have  imagined  otherwise. 
I  cannot  atone  to  you  for  the  ruin  of  whatever  hopes  you  may 
Iftlve  cherished,  but  I  can  at  least  save  you  from  disappoint- 
ment in  the  future.  I  tell  you  now,  therefore,  once  and  for- 
ever, that,  whatever  may  happen,  however  our  fates  may 
change,  you  and  I  can  never,  never  be  husband  and  wife." 

Sweet  and  lo*v  as  was  her  voice,  an  inexorable  fate  spoke  in 
it.  Seth  felt,  word  by  word,  its  fatal  significance,  as  the  con- 
demned culprit  feels  the  terrible  phrases  of  his  final  sentence. 
He  knew,  instinctively,  that  it  was  vain  to  plead  or  expostulate. 
He  must,  perforce,  accept  his  doom ;  but,  in  doing  so,  his  in- 
jured self-esteem  made  a  violent  protest.  It  was  the  fretful 
anger  of  disappointment,  rather  than  the  unselfish  sorrow  of 
love.  He  could  only  account  for  the  fact  of  his  refusal  by  the 
supposition  that  her  affections  were  elsewhere  bestowed. 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  he,  petulantly ;  "  somebody  else  is  in 
the  way." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  she  answered.  "  I,  only,  am 
responsible  for  your  disappointment.  You  have  no  right  to 
question  me,  and  I  might  well  allow  your  insinuation  to  pass 
without  notice  ;  but  my  silence  may  possibly  mislead  you,  as 
it  seems  my  ordinary  friendly  regard  has  done.  I  will,  there- 
fore, for  my  own  sake  no  less  than  yours — for  I  desire,  in  so 
solemn  a  matter,  to  leave  no  ground  for  self-reproach — volun- 
tarily say  to  you,  that  I  know  no  man  to  whom  I  could  surren- 


152  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

der  my  life  in  the  unquestioning  sacrifice  of  love.  I  have  long 
since  renounced  the  idea  of  marriage.  My  habits  of  thought 
— the  duties  I  have  assumed — my  lack  of  youth  and  beauty, 
perhaps"  (and  here  the  measured  sweetness  of  her  voice  was 
interrupted  for  a  moment), "  will  never  attract  to  me  the  man, 
unselfish  enough  to  be  just  to  my.  sex,  equally  pure  in  his  as- 
pirations, equally  tender  in  his  affections,  and  wiser  in  the 
richness  of  his  experience,  whom  my  heart  would  demand,  if 
it  dared  still  longer  to  cherish  a  hopeless  dream.  I  have  not 
even  enough  of  an  ideal  love  remaining,  to  justify  your  jeal- 
ousy. In  my  association  with  you  for  the  advancement  of 
mutual  aims,  as  well  as  in  our  social  intercourse,  I  have  treated 
you  with  the  kindly  respect  which  was  your  due  as  a  fellow- 
being,  but  I  can  never  recognize  in  you  that  holy  kinship  TO 
the  heart,  without  which  Love  is  a  mockery  and  Marriage  is 
worse  than  death  !" 

Seth  felt  it  impossible  to  reply,  although  his  self-esteem  was 
cruelly  wounded.  She  thought  herself  too  good  for  him,  then  : 
that  was  it !  Why,  the  very  man  she  had  described,  as  the 
ideal  husband  she  would  never  meet — it  was  exactly  himself! 
It  was  of  no  use,  however,  for  him  to  say  so.  She  had  reject- 
ed him  with  a  solemn  decision,  from  which  there  was  no  ap- 
peal. He  must,  also,  needs  believe  her  other  declaration,  that 
she  loved  no  one  else.  Her  inordinate  mental  pride  was  the 
true  explanation. 

They  had  stopped,  during  the  foregoing  conversation.  Han- 
nah Thurston  had  dropped  her  hold  on  his  arm,  and  stood, 
facing  him,  on  the  narrow  sidewalk.  The  night  was  so  dark 
that  neither  could  distinctly  see  the  other's  face.  A  melan- 
choly wind  hummed  in  the  leafless  twigs  of  the  elms  above 
them,  and  went  off  to  sough  among  a  neighboring  group  of 
pines.  Finding  that  Seth  made  no  answer,  Miss  Thurston 
slowly  resumed  Jier  homeward  walk.  He  mechanically  ac- 
companied her.  As  they  approached  the  widow's  cottage,  he 
heaved  a  long,  hoarse  sigh,  and  muttered  : 

"Well,  there's    another    aspiration    deceived.      It   seems 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  153 

there's  no  quality  of  human  nature  which  we  can  depend 
upon." 

"  Do  not  let  this  disappointment  make  you  unjust,  Seth," 
she  said,  pausing,  with  her  hand  upon  the  gate.  "  You  have 
deceived  yourself,  and  it  is  far  better  to  become  reconciled  to 
the  truth  at  once.  If  I  have  ignorantly,  in  any  way,  assisted 
in  the  deception,  I  beg  you  to  pardon  me." 

'She  turned  to  enter  the  cottage,  but  Seth  still  hesitated. 
"  Hannah,"  he  said  at  last,  awkwardly :  "  You — you  won't  say 
any  thing  about  this  ?" 

She  moved  away  from  him  with  an  instant  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing. "  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "Repeat 
that  question  to  yourself,  and  perhaps  it  may  explain  to  you 
why  your  nature  and  mine  can  never  approach  !"  Without 
saying  good-night,  she  entered  the  house,  leaving  Seth  to  wan- 
der back  to  his  lodgings  in  a  very  uncomfortable  frame  of 
mind. 

Hannah  Thurston  found  the  lighted  lamp  waiting  for  her  in 
the  warm  sitting-room  ;  her  mother  was  already  in  bed.  She 
took  off  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  seated  herself  in  the  widow's 
rocking-chair.  Tears  of  humiliation  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  He 
does  not  deserve,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  I  should  have 
opened  my  heart  before  him.  I  wanted  to  be  just,  for  I  thought 
that  love,  however  imperfect  or  mistaken,  was  always  at  least 
delicate  and  reverent.  I  thought  the  advocacy  of  moral  truth 
presupposed  some  nobility  of  soul — that  a  nature  which  ac- 
cepted such  truth  could  not  be  entirely  low  and  mean.  I  have 
allowed  a  profane  eye  to  look  upon  sanctities,  and  the  very 
effort  I  made  to  be  true  and  just  impresses  me  with  a  sense  of 
self-degradation.  What  must  I  do,  to  reconcile  my  instincts 
with  the  convictions  of  my  mind  ?  Had  I  not  suppressed  the 
exhibition  of  my  natural  repugnance  to  that  man,  I  should  have 
been  spared  the  pain  of  this  evening — spared  the  shrinking 
shudder  which  I  must  feel  whenever  the  memory  of  it  re- 
turns." 

Gradually  her  self-examination  went  deeper,  and  she  con- 


154  HANNAH   THUBSTON  I 

fessed  to  herself  that  Seth's  declaration  of  love  was  in  itself  her 
greatest  humiliation.  She  had  not  told  him  the  whole  truth, 
though  it  had  seemed  to  be  so,  when  she  spoke.  She  had  not 
renounced  the  dream  of  her  younger  years.  True,  she  had 
forcibly  stifled  it,  trodden  upon  it  with  the  feet  of  a  stern 
resolution,  hidden  its  ruins  from  sight  in  the  remotest 
chamber  of  her  heart — but  now  it  arose  again,  strong  in  its 
immortal  life.  Oh,  to  think  who  should  have  wooed  her  under 
the  stars,  in  far  other  words  and  with  far  other  answers — the 
man  whom  every  pulse  of  her  being  claimed  and  called  upon, 
the  man  who  never  came  !  In  his  stead  this  creature,  whose 
love  seemed  to  leave  a  stain  behind  it — whose  approach  to 
her  soul  was  that  of  an  unclean  footstep.  Had  it  come  to  this  ? 
Was  he  the  only  man  whom  the  withheld  treasures  of  her 
heart  attracted  towards  her  ?  Did  he,  alone,  suspect  the 
splendor  of  passion  which  shone  beneath  the  calmness  and 
reserve  of  the  presence  she  showed  to  the  world  ? 

It  was  a  most  bitter,  most  humiliating  thought.  With  her 
head  drooping  wearily  towards  her  breast,  and  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap,  with  unheeded  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes,  she  sought  refuge  from  this  pain  in  that  other  pain  of  the 
imagined  love  that  once  seemed  so  near  and  lovely — lovelier 
now,  as  she  saw  it  through  the  mist  of  a  gathering  despair. 
Thus  she  sat,  once  more  the  helpless  captive  of  her  dreams, 
while  the  lamp  burned  low  and  the  room  grew  cold. 


A   STORY   OP   AMERICAN  UFE.  155 


CHAPTER  ^  XII. 

MOTHER   AND    DAUGHTER. 

THE  morning  came,  late  and  dark,  with  a  dreary  March 
rain,  the  commencement  of  that  revolutionary  anarchy  in  the 
weather,  through  which  the  despotism  of  Winter  is  over- 
thrown, and  the  sweet  republic  of  Spring  established  on  the 
Earth.  Even  Woodbury,  as  he  looked  out  on  the  writhing 
trees,  the  dripping  roofs,  and  the  fields  of  soggy,  soaked  snow., 
could  not  suppress  a  sigh  of  loneliness  and  yearning.  Bute, 
whose  disappointment,  bitter  though  it  was,  failed  to  counter- 
act the  lulling  warmth  of  the  blankets  after  his  ride  home 
against  the  wind,  and  who  had  therefore  slept  soundly  all 
night,  awoke  to  a  sense  of  hollowness  and  wretchedness  which 
he  had  never  experienced  before.  His  duties  about  the  barn 
attended  to,  and  breakfast  over,  he  returned  to  his  bedroom 
to  make  his  usual  Sunday  toilet.  Mr.  Woodbury  had  decided 
not  to  go  to  church,  and  Bute,  therefore,  had  nothing  but  his 
own  thoughts,  or  the  newspapers,  to  entertain  him  through  the 
day.  Having  washed  his  neck  and  breast,  put  on  the  clean 
shirt  which  Mrs.  Babb  took  care  to  have  ready  for  him,  and 
combed  his  yellow  locks,  he  took  a  good  look  at  himself  in  the 
little  mirror. 

"  I  a'n't  handsome,  that's  a  fact,"  he  thought  to  himself, 
"butnuther  is  she,  for  that  matter.  I've  got  good  healthy 
blood  in  me,  though,  and  if  my  face  is  sunburnt,  it  don't  look 
like  taller.  I  don't  see  why  all  the  slab-sided,  lantern-jawed, 
holler-breasted  fellows  should  have  no  trouble  o'  gittin'  wives, 
and  me,  of  a  darned  sight  better  breed,  though  I  do  say  it,  to 


158  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

have  sich  bad  luck  !  I  can't  stand  it.  I've  got  every  thing 
here  that  a  man  could  want,  but  'ta'n't  enough.  O  Lord !  to 
think  her  children  should  have  somebody  else  than  me  for  a 
father !" 

Bute  groaned  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  where  he 
thrust  both  hands  through  his  carefully  combed  hair.  His 
strong  masculine  nature  felt  itself  wronged,  and  the  struggle 
was  none  the  less  severe,  because  it  included  no  finer  spiritual 
disappointment.  He  possessed  only  a  true,  honest,  tender 
heart,  as  the  guide  to  his  instincts,  and  these,  when  baffled, 
suggested  no  revenge,  such  as  might  occur  to  a  more  reckless 
or  more  imaginative  nature.  His  life  had  been  blameless, 
heretofore,  from  the  simple  force  of  habit,  and  the  pure  atmos- 
phere in  which  he  lived.  To  confess  the  truth,  he  was  not 
particularly  shocked  by  the  grosser  experiences  of  some  of  his 
friends,  but  to  adopt  them  himself  involved  a  change  so  vio- 
lent that  he  knew  not  where  it  might  carry  him.  If  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind  at  all,  it  was  dismissed  without  a 
moment's  hospitality.  He  did  not  see,  because  he  did  not 
seek,  any  escape  from  the  sore,  weary,  thirsty  sensation  which 
his  disappointment  left  behind.  The  fibres  of  his  nature,  which 
were  accustomed  to  give  out  a  sharp,  ringing,  lusty  twang  to 
every  touch  of  Life,  were  now  muffled  and  deadened  in  tone  : 
that  was  all. 

It  might  have  been  some  consolation  to  Bute,  if  he  could 
have  known  that  his  presumed  rival  was  equally  unfortunate. 
In  the  case  of  the  latter,  however,  there  was  less  of  the  p.ang 
of  blighted  hopes  than  of  the  spiteful  bitterness  of  wounded 
vanity.  Seth  Wattles  was  accustomed  to  look  upon  himself, 
and  not  without  grounds  of  self-justification,  as  an  unusual 
man.  The  son  of  a  poor  laborer,  orphaned  at  an  early  age, 
and  taken  in  charge  by  a  tailor  of  Ptolemy,  who  brought  him 
up  to  his  own  business,  he  owed  his  education  mostly  to  n 
quick  ear  and  a  ready  tongue.  His  brain,  though  shallow, 
was  active,  its  propelling  power  being  his  personal  conceit ;  but 
he  was  destitute  of  imagination,  and  hence  his  attempted 


A   STOEY    OP    AMERICAN  LIFE.  157 

flights  of  eloquence  were  often  hopelessly  confused  and  illogi- 
cal. The  pioneer  orators  of  Abolition  and  Temperance,  ^ho 
visited  Ptolemy,  found  in  him  a  willing  convert,  and  he  was 
quick  enough  to  see  and  to  secure  the  social  consideration 
which  he  had  gained  in  the  small  community  of  "  Reformers" — 
an  advantage  which  the  conservative  society  of  the  village  de- 
nied to  him.  Indeed,  the  abuse  to  which  he  was  occasionally 
subjected,  was  in  itself  flattering  ;  for  only  men  of  importance, 
he  thought,  are  thus  persecuted.  Among  his  associates,  it  was 
customary  to  judge  men  by  no  other  standard  than  their  views 
on  the  chosen  reforms,  and  he,  of  course,  stood  among  the 
highest.  His  cant,  his  presumption,  his  want  of  delicacy, 
were  all  overlooked,  out  of  regard  to  an  advocacy  of  "  high 
moral  truths,"  which  was  considered  to  be,  and  doubtless  was, 
sincere. 

Let  us  not,  therefore,  judge  the  disappointed  tailor  too 
harshly.  His  weaknesses,  indeed,  were  a  part  of  his  mental 
constitution,  and  could,  under  no  circumstances,  have  been 
wholly  cured ;  but  it  was  his  own  fault  that  they  had  so 
thoroughly  usurped  his  nature. 

Whatever  spiritual  disturbance  he  might  have  experienced, 
on  awaking  next  morning  to  the  realities  of  the  world,  the 
woman  who  rejected  him  was  much  more  deeply  and  painfully 
troubled.  Years  had  passed  since  her  heart  had  known  so 
profound  an  agitation.  She  felt  that  the  repose  which  she  had 
only  won  after  many  struggles,  had  deceived  herself.  It  was 
a  false  calm.  The  smooth  mirror,  wherein  the  sunshine  and 
the  stars  saw  themselves  by  turns,  was  only  smooth  so  long 
as  the  south-wind  failed  to  blow.  One  warm  breath,  coming 
over  the  hills  from  some  far-off,  unknown  region,  broke  into 
fragments  the  steady  images  of  her  life.  With  a  strange  conflict 
of  feeling,  in  which  there  was  some  joy  and  much  humiliation, 
she  said  to  herself:  "  I  am  not  yet  the  mistress  of  my  fate." 

She  rose  late,  unrefreshed  by  her  short,  broken  sleep,  and 
uncheered  by  the  dark,  cold,  and  wet  picture  of  the  valley.  It 
was  one  of  those  days  when  only  a  heart  filled  to  the  brim 


158  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

with  unmingled  happiness  can  take  delight  in  life — when  the 
simplest  daily  duties  present  themselves  as  weary  tasks — when 
every  string  we  touch  is  out  of  tune,  and  every  work  at- 
tempted is  one  discord  the  more.  Descending  to  the  sitting- 
room,  she  found  her  mother  in  the  rocking-chair,  before  a 
brisk  fire,  while  the  little  servant-girl  was  busy,  preparing 
the  table  for  breakfast — a  work  which  Hannah  herself  usually 
performed. 

"  Thee's  rather  late,  Hannah,"  said  the  widow.  "  I  thought 
thee  might  be  tired,  and  might  as  well  sleep,  while  Jane  set 
the  table.  She  must  learn  it  some  time,  thee  knows." 

"  Pm  obliged  to  thee,  mother,"  the  daughter  replied.  "  I 
have  not  slept  well,  and  have  a  little  headache  this  morning. 
It  is  the  weather,  I  think." 

"  Now  thee  mentions  it,  I  see  that  thee's  quite  pale.  Jane, 
put  two  spoonfuls  of  tea  in  the  pot ;  or,  stay,  thee'd  better 
bring  it  here  and  let  me  make  it." 

Hannah  had  yielded  to  the  dietetic  ideas  of  her  friends,  so 
far  as  to  give  up  the  use  of  tea  and  coffee — a  step  in  which 
the  widow  was  not  able  to  follow  her.  A  few  months  before, 
the  former  would  have  declined  the  proposal  to  break  her 
habit  of  living,  even  on  the  plea  of  indisposition ;  she  would 
have  resisted  the  natural  craving  for  a  stimulant  or  a  sed- 
ative as  something  morbid;  but  now  she  was  too  listless, 
too  careless  of  such  minor  questions,  to  refuse.  The  unac- 
customed beverage  warmed  and  cheered  her,  and  she  rose 
from  the  table  strengthened  to  resume  her  usual  manner. 

"  I  thought  it  would  do  thee  good,"  said  the  widow,  noting 
the  effect,  slight  as  it  was,  with  the  quick  eye  of  a  mother. 
"  I'm  afraid,  Hannah,  thee  carries  thy  notions  about  diet  a 
little  too  far." 

"  Perhaps  thee's  right,  mother,"  was  the  answer.  She  had 
no  inclination  to  commence  a  new  discussion  of  one  of  the  few 
subjects  on  which  the  two  could  not  agree. 

After  the  house  had  been  put  in  order  for  the  day,  prepa- 
rations made  for  the  frugal  dinner,  and  the  servant-girl  de- 


0 
A   STOJRY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  159 

spatched  to  tlie  Cimmerian  Church,  Hannah  took  her  usual 
seat  by  the  window,  saying  :  " Shall  I  read  to  thee,  mother?" 

"  If  thee  pleases." 

There  was  no  Quaker  Meeting  nearer  than  Tiberius,  and 
hence  it  had  been  the  widow's  custom,  on  "First-Days," 
to  read,  or  hear  her  daughter  read,  from  the  classics  of  the 
sect.  To  Hannah,  also,  in  spite  of  her  partial  emancipation, 
there  was  a  great  charm  in  the  sweet  simplicity  and  sincerity 
of  the  early  Friends,  and  she  read  the  writings  of  Fox,  Bar- 
clay, Elwood,  and  William  Penn,  with  a  sense  of  refreshment 
and  peace.  To  these  were  added  some  other  works  of  a  similar 
character,  which  the  more  cultivated  Quakers  have  indorsed 
as  being  inspired  by  the  true  spirit — Thomas  A,  Kempis, 
Jeremy  Taylor,  Madame  Guyon,  and  Pascal.  She  now  took 
the  oft-read  "•  No  Cross,  No  Crown,"  of  William  Penn,  the 
tone  of  which  was  always  consoling  to  her ;  but  this  time  its 
sweet,  serious  utterances  seemed  to  have  lost  their  effect. 
She  gave  the  words  in  her  pure,  distinct  voice,  and  strove  to 
take  them  into  her  mind  and  make  them  her  own :  in  vain ! 
something  interposed  itself  between  .her  and  the  familiar 
meaning,  and  made  the  task  mechanical.  The  widow  felt,  by 
a  sympathetic  presentiment,  rather  than  from  any  external 
evidence  which  she  could  detect,  that  her  daughter's  mind 
was  in  some  way  disturbed ;  yet  that  respectful  reserve  which 
was  habitual  in  this,  as  in  most  Quaker  families,  prevented 
her  from  prying  into  the  nature  of  the  trouble.  If  it  was  a 
serious  concern,  she  thought  to  herself,  Hannah  would  men- 
tion it  voluntarily.  There  are  spiritual  anxieties  and  strug- 
gles, she  knew,  which  must  be  solved  in  solitude.  No  one, 
not  even  a  mother,  should  knock  at  the  door  of  that  chamber 
where  the  heart  keeps  its  privacies,  but  patiently  and  silently 
wait  until  bidden  to  approach  and  enter. 

Nevertheless,  after  dinner,  when  the  household  order  was 
again  restored,  and  Hannah,  looking  from  the  window  upon 
the  drenched  landscape,  unconsciously  breathed  a  long,  weary 
sigh,  Friend  Thurston  felt  moved  to  speak. 


160  HANNAH  THTTKSTON: 

"  Hannah,"  she  said,  gravely  and  softly,  "  *,hee  seems  to 
have  something  on  thy  mind  to-day." 

For  a  minute  the  daughter  made  no  reply.  Turning  away 
from  the  window,  she- looked  upon  her  mother's  worn,  pale 
face,  almost  spectral  in  the  cloudy  light,  and  then  took  her 
accustomed  seat. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  I  ought 
to  tell  thee." 

"  If  thee  feels  so,  tell  me  then.  It  may  lighten  thy  own 
burden,  without  making  mine  heavier." 

"It  is  scarcely  a  burden,  mother,"  said  Hannah.  "I  know 
that  I  have  done  what  is  right,  but  I  fear  that  I  may  have  un- 
consciously brought  it  upon  myself,  when  it  might  have  been 
avoided."  She  then  repeated  the  conversation  which  had 
taken  place  between  Seth  Wattles  and  herself,  omitting  only 
that  secret,  impassioned  dream  of  her  heart,  a  glimpse  of 
which  she  had  permitted  to  escape  her.  She  did  not  dare  to 
betray  it  a  second  time,  and  thus  her  own  sense  of  humiliation 
was  but  half  explained. 

Friend  Thurston  waited  quietly  until  the  story  was  finished. 
"  Thee  did  right,  Hannah,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  and  I  do 
not  think  thee  can  justly  reproach  thyself  for  having  given 
him  encouragement.  He  is  a  very  vain  and  ignorant  man, 
though  well-meaning.  It  is  not  right  to  hold  prejudice 
against  any  one,  but  I  don't  mind  telling  thee  that  my  feeling 
towards  him  comes  very  near  being  that.  Thee  never  could 
be  happy,  Hannah,  with  a  husband  whom  thee  did  not  re- 
spect :  nay,  I  mean  something  more — whom  thee  did  not  feel 
was  wiser  and  stronger  than  thyself." 

A  transient  flush  passed  over  the  daughter's  face,  but  she 
made  no  reply. 

"  Thee  has  a  gift,  I  know,"  the  widow  continued,  "  and  thee 
has  learned  much.  There  is  a  knowledge,  though,  that  comes 
with  experience  of  life,  and  though  I  feel  my  ignorance  in 
many  ways,  compared  to  thy  learning,  there  are  some  things 
which  I  am  able  to  see  more  clearly  than  thee.  It  requires  no 


A    STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  161 

book-learning  to  read  the  heart,  and  there  is  less  difference  in 
the  hearts  of  women  than  thee  may  suppose.  We  cannot  be 
wholly  independent  of  the  men  :  we  need  their  help  and  com- 
panionship :  we  acknowledge  their  power  even  while  we 
resist  it.  There  are  defects  in  us  which  we  find  supplied  in 
them,  as  we  supply  theirs  where  marriage  is  perfect  and  holy. 
But  we  cannot  know  this,  except  through  our  own  experience. 
1  have  agreed  with  thee  in  most  of  thy  views  about  the  rights 
of  our  sex,  but  thee  never  can  be  entirely  wise  on  this  subject 
so  long  as  thee  remains  single.  No,  Hannah,  thee  won't 
think  hard  of  me  for  saying  it,  but  thee  does  not  yet  truly 
know  either  woman  or  man.  I  have  often  quietly  wished  that 
thee  had  not  set  thy  heart  against  marriage.  The  Lord 
seems  to  have  intended  a  mate  for  every  one,  so  that  none  of 
His  children  should  be  left  alone,  and  thee  should  not  shut 
thy  eyes  against  the  signs  He  gives. 

"Mother!" 

Even  while  uttering  this  exclamation,  into  which  she  was 
startled  by  the  unexpected  words  of  her  mother,  Hannah 
Thurston  felt  that  she  was  betraying  herself. 

"  Child !  child !  thy  father's  eyes — thee  has  his  very  look  ! 
I  am  concerned  on  thy  account,  Hannah.  Perhaps  I  have  been 
mistaken  in  thee,  as  I  was  mistaken  in  him.  Oh,  if  I  could  have 
known  him  in  time !  I  shall  not  be  much  longer  with  thee, 
my  daughter,  and  if  I  tell  thee  how  I  failed  in  my  duty  it  may 
help  thee  to  perform  thine,  if — if  my  prayers  for  thy  sake 
should  be  fulfilled." 

The  widow  paused,  agitated  by  the  recollections  which  her 
own  words  evoked.  The  tears  trickled  down  her  pale  cheeks, 
but  she  quietly  wiped  them  away.  Her  countenance  thus 
changed  from  its  usual  placid  repose,  Hannah  was  shocked  to 
see  how  weak  and  wasted  it  had  grown  during  the  winter. 
The  parting,  which  she  did  not  dare  to  contemplate,  might  be 
nearer  than  she  had  anticipated. 

"Do  not  say  any  thing  that  might  give  thee  pain,"  she 
said. 


162  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

"  Give  thyself  no  concern,  child.  It  will  bring  me  relief. 
I  have  often  felt  moved  to  tell  thee,  but  there  seemed  to  be 
no  fitting  time  before  now." 

"  Is  it  about  my  father  ?"  Hannah  asked. 

"  Yes,  Hannah.     I  wish  he  could  have  lived  long  enough  to 
leave  his  face  in  thy  memory,  but  it  was  not  to  be.     Thee  often 
reminds  me  of  him,  especially  when  I  feel  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  thy  nature  beyond   my  reach.     I  was  past  thy  age 
when  we  were   married,   and    he   was   no   longer   a   young 
man.       We    had    known    each    other    for    some    years,  but 
nothing   passed    between    us    that    younger    persons    would 
have  called  love.     I  was  sincerely  drawn  towards  him,  and 
it-  seemed  right  that  my  life  should  become  a  part  of  his. 
It  came  to  me  as  a  natural  change.     Richard  was  not  a  man 
of  many  words ;    he  was  considered  grave  and  stern ;  and 
when  he  first  looked  upon  me  with  only  a  gentle  smile  on  his 
face,  I  knew  that  his  heart  had  made  choice  of  me.     From 
that  time,  although  it  was  long  before  he  spoke  his  mind,  I  ac- 
customed myself  to  think  of  him  as  my  husband.     This  may 
seem  strange  to  thee,  and,  indeed,  I  never  confessed  it  to  him. 
When  we  came  to  live  together,  and  I  found,  from  every  cir- 
cumstance of  our  daily  life,  how  good  and  just  he   was,  how 
strong  and  upright  and  rigid  in  the  ways  that  seemed  right  to 
him,  I  leaned  upon  him  as  a  helper  and  looked  up  to  him  as  a 
guide.     There   was  in  my  heart  quite  as  much  reverence  as 
love.     An  unkind  word  never  passed  between  us.      When  I 
happened  to  be   wrong  in  any   thing,   he  knew  liow  to  turn 
my  mind  so  gently  and  kindly  that  I  was  set  right  without 
knowing  how.      He  was  never  wrong.     Our  married  life  was 
a  season  of  perfect  peace — yes,  to  me,  because  my  own  con- 
tentment made  me  careless,  blind. 

"  I  sometimes  noticed  that  his  eyes  rested  on  me  with  a  sin- 
gular expression,  and  I  wondered  what  was  in  his  mind.  There 
was  something  unsatisfied  in  his  face,  a  look  that  asked  for  I 
knew  not  what,  but  more  than  the  world  contains.  Once, 
when  I  said  :  '  Is  any  thing  the  matter,  Richard  ?'  he  turned 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  163 

quickly  away  and  answered  sharply.  After  that,  I  said  noth- 
ing, and  I  finally  got  accustomed  to  the  look.  I  recollect 
when  thy  brother  was  born,  he  seemed  like  another  man, 
though  there  was  no  outward  change.  When  he  spoke  to  me 
his  voice  was  trembly,  and  sounded  strange  to  my  ears ;  but 
my  own  weakness,  I  thought,  might  account  for  that.  He 
would  take  the  babe  to  the  window,  before  its  eyes  could  bear 
the  light ;  would  pick  it  up  when  asleep,  and  hold  it  so  tightly 
as  to  make  the  poor  thing  cry ;  then  he  would  put  it  down 
quickly  and  walk  out  of  the  room  without  saying  a  word.  I 
noticed  all  this,  as  I  lay,  but  it  gave  me  no  concern :  I  knew 
not  but  that  all  men  found  their  first  children  so  strange  and 
curious.  To  a  woman,  her  first  babe  seems  more  like  some- 
thing familiar  that  is  brought  back  to  her,  than  something  en- 
tirely new  that  is  added  to  her  life. 

"I  scarcely  know  how  to  make  clear  to  thy  mind  another 
change  that  came  over  thy  father  while  our  little  Richard  still 
lived.  I  never  could  be  entirely  certain,  indeed,  when  it  com- 
menced, because  I  fancied  these  things  were  passing  moods 
connected  with  his  serious  thoughts — he  was  a  man  much 
given  to  reflection — and  did  not  dream  that  they  concerned 
myself.  Therein,  our  quiet,  ordered  life  was  a  misfortune. 
One  day  was  like  another,  and  we  both,  I  think,  took  things 
as  they  were,  without  inquiring  whether  our  knowledge  of 
each  other's  hearts  might  not  be  imperfect.  Oh,  a  storm  would 
have  been  better,  Hannah — a  storm  which  would  have  shown 
us  the  wall  that  had  grown  up  between  us,  by  shaking  it  down ! 
But  thee  will  see  that  from  the  end — thee  will  see  it,  without 
my  telling  thee.  Richard  seemed  graver  and  sterner,  I  thought, 
but  he  was  much  occupied  with  business  matters  at  that  time. 
After  our  child  was  taken  from  us,  I  began  to  see  that  he  was 
growing  thinner  and  paler,  and  often  felt  very  uneasy  about 
him.  His  manner  towards  me  made  me  shy  and  a  little  afraid, 
though  I  could  pick  out  no  word  or  act  that  was  not  kind  and 
tender.  When  I  ventured  to  ask  him  what  was  the  matter,  he 
only  answered :  '  Nothing  that  can  be  helped.'  I  knew,  after 


164  HANNAH   THUBSTON  : 

that,  that  all  was  not  right,  but  my  eyes  were  not  opened  to 
the  trtffch." 

Here  Friend  Thurston  paused,  as  if- to  summon  strength  to 
continue  her  narrative.  Her  withered  hands  were  trembling, 
and  she  clasped  •them  together  in  her  lap  with  a  nervous  ener- 
gy which  did  not  escape  her  daughter's  eye.  The  latter  had 
listened  with  breathless  attention,  waiting  with  mingled  eager- 
ness and  dread  for  the  denouement,  which  she  felt  must  be 
more  or  less  tragic.  Although  her  mother's  agitation  touched 
her  own  heart  with  sympathetic  pain,  she  knew  that  the  story 
had  now  gone  too  far  to  be  left  unfinished.  She  rose,  brought 
a  glass  of  water,  and  silently  placed  it  on  the  little  table  beside 
her  mother's  chair.  When  she  had  resumed  her  seat,  the  latter 
continued : 

"  Within  a  year  after  our  boy's  death,  thee  was  born.  It 
was  a  great  consolation  to  me  then,  although  it  has  been  a  much 
greater  one  since.  I  hoped,  too,  that  it  would  have  made 
Richard  a  little  more  cheerful,  but  he  was,  if  any  thing,  quiet- 
er than  ever.  I  sometimes  thought  him  indifferent  both  to 
me  and  the  babe.  I  longed,  in  my  weakness. and  my  comfort, 
to  lay  my  head  upon  his  breast  and  rest  a  while  there.  It 
seemed  a  womanly  fancy  of  mine,  but  oh,  Hannah,  if  I  had  had 
the  courage  to  say  that  much !  Once  he  picked  thee  up, 
stood  at  the  window  for  a  long  while,  with  thee  in  his  arms, 
then  gave  thee  back  to  me  and  went  out  of  the  room  without 
saying  a  word.  The  bosom  of  thy  little  frock  was  damp,  and 
I  know  now  that  he  must  have  cried  over  thee. 

"  I  had  not  recovered  my  full  strength  when  I  saw  that  he 
was  really  ailing.  I  began  to  be  anxious  and  uneasy,  though 
I  scarcely  knew  why,  for  he  still  went  about  his  business  as 
usual.  JBut  one  morning — it  was  the  nineteenth  of  the  Fifth 
month,  I  remember,  and  on  Seventh-day — he  started  to  go  to 
the  village,  and  came  back  to  the  house  in  half  an  hour,  look- 
ing fearfully  changed.  His  voice,  though,  was  as  steady  as 
ever.  '  I  believe  I  am  not  well,  Gulielma,'  he  said  to  me ; 
'perhaps  I'd  better  lie  down  a  while.  Don't-trouble  thyself — 


A   STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  165 

it  will  soon  be  over.'  I  made  him  undress  and  go  to  'bed,  for 
my  anxiety  gave  me  strength.  Then  I  sent  for  the  doctor, 
without  telling  Richard  what  I  had  done.  It  was  evening 
when  the  doctor  came  ;  thee  was  rather  fretful  that  day,  and 
I  had  taken  thee  into  another  room,  for  fear  Richard  might  be 
disturbed.  I  only  noticed  that  the  doctor  stayed  a  long  time, 
but  they  were  old  friends,  I  thought,  and  might  like  to  talk. 
By  the  time  I  had  put  thee  to  sleep,  he  had  left  and  Richard  was 
alone.  I  went  directly  to  him.,  '  What  is  thee  to  take  ?'  I  asked. 
4  Nothing,'  he  said,  so  quietly  that  I  ought  to  have  been  relieved, 
but— I  do  not  know  how  it  was — I  turned  to  him  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  and  cried  out :  '  Richard,  thee  has  not  told  me  all  f 

"  '  Yes,  all,  Gulielma,'  said  he,  '  nothing  will  help  :  I  must 
leave  thee,'  I  stared  at  him  a  while,  trying  to  stand  still, 
while  every  thing  in  the  room  went  spinning  around  me,  until 
I  saw  nothing  more.  I  was  lying  beside  him  on  the  bed 
when  I  came  to  myself.  My  hair  was  wet :  he  had  picked  me 
up,  poured  water  on  his  handkerchief  and  bathed  my  face. 
When  I  opened  my  eyes,  he  was  leaning  over  me,  looking 
into  my  eyes  with  a  look  I  cannot  describe.  He  breathed 
hard  and  painfully,  and  his  voice  was  husky.  c  I  have  fright- 
ened thee,  Gulielma,'  said  he  ;  '  but — but  can  thee  not  resign 
thyself  to  lose  me  ?'  His  look  seemed  to  draw  my  very  soul 
from  me ;  I  cried,  with  a  loud  and  bitter  cry,  '  Richard, 
Richard,  take  me  with  thee  !'  and  threw  my  arms  around  his 
neck.  Oh,  my  child,  how  can  I  tell  thee  the  rest  ?  He  put 
away  my  arms,  he  held  me  back,  and  gasped,  as  he  looked  at 
me  with  burning  eyes  :  '  Take  care  what  thee  says,  Gulielma  ; 
I  am  dying,  and  thee  dare  not  deceive  me  ;  does  thee  love  me 
as  I  love  thee — more  than  life,  more,  the  Lord  pardon  me, 
more  than  heaven  ?'  For  the  first  time,  I  knew  that  I  did.  If  it 
was  a  sin,  it  has  been  expiated.  I  cannot  remember  what  was 
said,  after  that.  It  was  all  clear  between  us,  and  he  would 
allow  no  blame  to  rest  on  me  ;  but  he  could  not  speak,  except 
at  intervals.  He  held  my  hand  all  night,  pressing  it  faintly  in 
his  sleep.  The  next  day  he  died. 


166  HANNAH  THTJESTON: 

"He  had  loved  me  thus  all  the  time,  Hannah,  and  it  was  the 
pride  and  the  strength  of  his  love  which  deceived  me.  He 
would  not  ask  for  a  caress  or  a  tender  word,  because  he 
thought  that  a  woman  who  loved  would  freely  give  it — nor 
would  he  offer  one,  so  long  as  he  suspected  that  the  sacred  ex- 
pression of  his  heart  might  be  only  passively  received.  Ah,  it 
was  a  sad  doubt  of  me  on  his  part,  a  sad  blindness  towards 
him  on  mine.  When  he  began  to  suffer  from  disease  of  the 
heart,  and  knew  that  his  life  was  measured,  his  self-torture  in- 
creased. He  purposely  tried  to  subdue  the  mild,  tempered 
affection  which  he  supposed  I  felt  for  him,  in  order  that  his 
death  might  be  a  lighter  grief  to  me.  And  I  lived  with  him? 
day  after  day,  never  guessing  that  his  stern,  set  manner  was 
not  his  real  &elf !  I  do  not  dare  to  think  on  the  cross  he  must 
have  borne :  my  own  seems  heavy,  and  my  spirit  sometimes 
grows  weary  under  it,  and  is  moved  to  complain.  Then  I  re- 
member that  by  bearing  it  cheerfully  I  am  brought  nearer  to 
him,  and  the  burden  becomes  light." 

Hannah  Thurston  listened  to  the  last  words  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands,  and  her  heart  full  of  pity  and  self-reproach. 
What  was  the  pang  of  her  own  fruitless  dream,  her  baffled 
ideal,  beside  the  sharp,  inconsolable  sorrow  which  consumed 
her  mother's  years  ?  What  availed  her  studies,  her  intellec- 
tual triumphs,  her  fancied  comprehension  of  life,  in  comparison 
with  that  knowledge  of  the  heart  of  man  thus  fearfully  won  ? 
Humble,  as  when,  a  child,  she  listened  to  her  mother's  words 
as  the  accents  of  infallible  wisdom,  she  now  bowed  down 
before  the  sanctity  of  that  mother's  experience. 

The  widow  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  with  closed  eyes,  but 
with  a  happy  serenity  on  her  weary  face.  Hannah  took  her 
hand,  and  whispered,  with  a  broken  voice:  "Thank  thee, 
mother !"  The  weak  old  arms  drew  her  gently  down,  and 
the  pale  lips  kissed  her  own. 

"  Bless  thee,  my  daughter.  Now  take  thy  book  and  Jet  me 
rest  a  while." 

Hannah  took  the  book,  but  not  to  read. 


A    STOP.Y   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  167 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

IN   WHICH   SPRING    OPENS. 

THE  rainy  Sunday  was  the  precursor  of  a  thaw,  which  lasted 
for  a  fortnight,  and  stripped  the  landscapes  of  Ptolemy  of 
every  particle  of  snow,  except  such  as  found  a  lodgment  in 
fence-corners,  behind  walls,  or  in  shaded  ravines.  The  wands 
of  the  willow  clumps  along  the  streams  brightened  to  a  vivid 
yellow,  and  the  myriad  twigs  of  low-lying  thickets  blushed 
purple  with  returning  sap.  Frozen  nights  and  muddy  days 
enough  were  yet  in  store ;  but  with  every  week  the  sun  gained 
confidence  in  his  own  alchemy,  and  the  edge  of  the  north-wind 
was  blunted.  Very  slowly,  indeed,  a  green  shimmer  crept 
up  through  the  brown,  dead  grass ;  the  fir-woods  breathed  a 
resinous  breath  of  awaking ;  pale  green  eyes  peeped  from  the 
buds  of  the  garden-lilacs,  and,  finally,  like  a  tender  child,  igno- 
rant of  danger,  the  crocus  came  forth  full  blown  and  shamed 
the  cowardly  hesitation  of  the  great  oaks  and  elms. 

During  this  season,  Woodbury's  intercourse  with  the  soci- 
ety of  the  village  was  mostly  suspended.  After  the  termina- 
tion of  the  Great  Sewing-Union,  families  fell  back  into  their 
narrower  circles,  and  rested  for  a  time  both  from  their  social 
and  their  charitable  labors.  Even  the  itinerant  prophets  and 
philanthropists  ceased  their  visits,  leaving  Ptolemy  in  its  nor- 
mal darkness.  Only  Mr.  Dyce,  it  was  whispered,  had  again 
made  his  appearance  at  the  Merryfields',  where  his  spiritual 
sessions  were  attended  by  a  select  circle  of  the  initiated. 
Neither  Woodbury  nor  Mr.  Waldo  had  been  again  invited  to 
attend. 

All  minor  gossip,  however,  was  lost  sight  of,  in  the  interest 


163  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

occasioned  by  an  event  which  occurred  about  this  time.  Miss 
Eliza  Clancy,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  had  at  last  re- 
ceived "  a  call."  During  a  visit  to  Syracuse,  she  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  Rev.  Jehiel  Preeks,  a  widower  who,  hav- 
ing been  driven  away  from  Tristan  d'Acunha  after  losing  his 
wife  there,  had  been  commissioned  by  the  A.  B.  C.  F.  M.  to  a 
new  field  of  labor  in  the  Telugu  country.  His  station  was  to 
be  Cuddapah,  only  a  day's  journey  from  Jutnapore.  Miss 
Eliza  displayed  such  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  latter  mis- 
sion, derived  from  Mrs.  Boerum's  letters,  and  such  a  vital  con- 
cern in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  the  Telugus,  that  the  Rev. 
Jehiel,  at  their  third  interview,  asked  her  to  share  his  labors. 
There  were  persons  in  Ptolemy  so  malicious  as  to  declare  that 
the  proposal  really  came  from  Miss  Eliza  herself;  but  this  is 
not  for  a  moment  to  be  believed.  The  missionary  made  a  bet- 
ter choice  than  such  persons  were  willing  to  admit.  Although 
verging  on  forty,  and  ominously  thin,  Miss  Clancy  was  sincere, 
active,  and  patient,  and  thought  more  of  the  heathen  souls 
whom  she  might  enlighten  than  of  the  honors  of  her  new  posi- 
tion. When  she  returned  to  Ptolemy  as  Mrs.  Preeks,  with 
her  passage  engaged  to  Madras  in  the  very  vessel  which  was 
to  carry  out  the  contributions  of  the  Mission  Fund,  she  was 
too  thoroughly  happy  to  be  disturbed  by  the  village  gossip. 
The  other  ladies  of  the  Fund — foremost  among  them  her 
sister  spinsters,  Miss  Ann  Parrott  and  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson 
— immediately  resumed  work,  in  order  to  provide  her  with  a 
generous  outfit  for  the  voyage.  Early  in  April  the  parting 
took  place,  with  mutual  tears,  and  thenceforth  the  pious  pat- 
ronage of  Ptolemy  was  transferred  from  Jutnapore  and  Mrs. 
Boerum  to  Cuddapah  and  Mrs.  Preeks. 

The  Hon.  Zeno  Harder  occupied  his  seat  in  the  Legislature, 
through  the  winter.  Several  times  during  the  session  Wood- 
bury  received  the  compliment  of  documents,  one  of  them  enti- 
tled :  "  Remarks  of  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder,  of  Atauga  County, 
on  the  Mohawk  and  Adirondac  Railroad  Bill."  Occasionally, 
also,  the  Albany  Cerberus  was  sent  to  him  with  one  of  the 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  169 

leading  editorials  marked,  by  way  of  directing  his  attention 
to  it.  The  Hon.  Zeno  looked  upon  Woodbury,  who  had  been 
BO  long  absent  from  the  country  as  to  have  lost  "  the  run"  of 
politics,  as  fair  prey.  By  securing  him  before  the  hostile  party 
had  a  chance,  he  would  gain  two  votes  (one  of  them  Bute's), 
and  possibly  more,  besides  a  President  of  character  and  sub- 
stance, for  mass-meetings.  Woodbury,  however,  was  too 
shrewd,  and  the  Member  too  clumsy  in  his  diplomacy,  for  the 
success  of  this  plan.  The  former,  although  foreseeing  that  he 
would  be  inevitably  drawn  to  take  sides,  sooner  or  later, 
determined  to  preserve  his  independence  as  long  as  possible. 

The  churches  in  the  village  undertook  their  periodical  "  re- 
vivals," which  absorbed  the  interest  of  the  community  while 
they  lasted.  It  was  not  the  usual  season  in  Ptolemy  for  such 
agitations  of  the  religious  atmosphere,  but  the  Methodist  cler- 
gyman, a  very  zealous  and  impassioned  speaker,  having  initia- 
ted the  movement  with  great  success,  the  other  sects  became 
alarmed  lest  he  should  sweep  all  the  repentant  sinners  of  the 
place  into  his  own  fold.  As  soon  as  they  could  obtain  help 
from  Tiberius,  the  Baptists  followed,  and  the  Rev.  Lemuel 
Styles  was  constrained  to  do  likewise.  For  a  few  days,  the 
latter  regained  the  ground  he  had  lost,  and  seemed  about  to 
distance  his  competitors.  Luckily  for  him,  the  Rev.  Jehiel 
Preeks  accompanied  his  wife  on  her  farewell  visit,  and  was 
immediately  impressed  into  the  service.  His  account  of  his 
sufferings  at  Tristan  d'Acunha,  embracing  a  description  of  the 
sickness  and  triumphant  death  of  his  first  wife,  melted  the  audi- 
tors to  tears,  and  the  exhortation  which  followed  was  like  seed 
planted  in  well-ploughed  ground.  The  material  for  conversion, 
drarwn  upon  from  so  many  different  quarters,  was  soon  exhaust- 
ed, but  the  rival  churches  stoutly  held  out,  until  convinced  that 
neither  had  any  further  advantage  to  gain  over  the  other. 

Mr.  Waldo,   of  course,  was  not    exempt  from  the  general 

necessity,  although  conscious  of  the  disadvantage  under  which 

he  labored  in  representing  so  unimportant  a  sect.     Its  founder 

had  been  a  man  of  marked  character,  whose  strong,  peculiar 

8 


1 70  HANNAH   THURSTON  I 

intellect,  combined  with  his  earnestness  of  heart,  wrought 
powerfully  upon  those  with  whom  he  came  in  personal  contact, 
but  his  views  were  not  broad  enough  to  meet  the  wants  of  a 
large  class.  After  his  death,  many  of  his  disciples,  released 
from  the  influence  of  his  personality,  saw  how  slight  a  difference 
separated  them  from  their  brethren,  and  yearned  to  be  includ- 
ed in  a  more  extensive  fold.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Waldo, 
whose  native  good  sense  taught  him  that  minor  differences  in 
interpretation  and  observances  do  not  justify  Christians  in  di- 
viding their  strength  by  a  multitude  of  separate  organizations. 
His  congregation,  however,  was  very  slowly  brought  to  view 
the  matter  in  the  same  light,  and  he  was  too  sincerely  at- 
tached to  its  members  to  give  up  his  charge  of  them  while  any 
prospect  of  success  remained. 

On  this  occasion,  nevertheless — thanks  to  the  zeal  of  some 
of  his  flock,  rather  than  his  own  power  of  wielding  the  thun- 
derbolts of  Terror — Mr.  Waldo  gained  three  or  four  solitary 
fish  out  of  the  threescore  who  were  hauled  up  from  the  deeps 
by  the  various  nets.  The  Cimmerian  rite  of  baptism  had  this 
advantage,  that  it  was  not  performed  in  public,  and  its  solem- 
nity was  not  therefore  disturbed  by  the  presence  of  a  crowd 
of  curious  spectators,  such  as  are  especially  wont  to  be  on 
hand  when  the  water  is  cold.  Mr.  Waldo  even  disregarded 
the  peculiar  form  of  initiation  which  characterized  his  sect, 
affirming  that  it  added  no  sanctity  to  the  rite. 

During  the  period  of  the  revivals,  there  was  a  temporary 
suspension  of  the  social  life  of  Ptolemy.  Even  kindred  fami- 
lies rarely  assembled  at  tea  except  to  discuss  the  absorbing 
topic  and  compare  the  results  obtained  by  the  various  churches. 
There  was  a  great  demand  for  Baxters  "  Saint's  Rest,1' 
Alleine's  "Alarm,"  Young's  "Night  Thoughts,"  and  Follows 
"  Course  of  Time,"  at  the  little  bookstore.  Two  feathers  dis- 
appeared from  the  Sunday  bonnet  of  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue,  and 
the  Misses  Smith  exchanged  their  red  ribbons  for  slate-colored. 
Still,  it  was  not  the  habit  of  the  little  place  to  be  sombre  j  its 
gnyety  was  never  excessive,  and  hence  its  serious  moods 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  171 

never  assumed  a  penitential  character,  and  soon  wore  off.  In 
this  respect  it  presented  a  strong  contrast  to  Mulligansville 
and  Anacreon,  both  of  which  communities  retained  a  severe 
and  mournful  expression  for  a  long  time  after  th£ir  revivals 
had  closed. 

By  this  time  the  meadows  were  covered  with  young  grass, 
the  willows  hung  in  folds  of  misty  color,  and  a  double  row  of 
daffodils  bloomed  in  every  garden.  ^  The  spring  ploughing  and 
all  the  other  various  forms  of  farm  labor  commenced  in  the 
valleys,  and  on  the  warm,  frostless  hillsides.  The  roads  were 
again  dry  and  hard ;  the  little  steamer  resumed  its  trips  on  the 
lake  ;  and  a  new  life  not  only  stirred  within  the  twin  valleys, 
but  poured  into  them  from  without. 

As  the  uniformity  of  winter  life  at  Lakeside  gave  way  to 
the  changes  exacted  by  the  season,  Woodbury  became  dimly 
sensible  that  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb,  with  »11  her  virtues  as  a 
housekeeper,  stood  too  prominently  in  the  foreground  of  his 
home.  Her  raw,  angular  nature  came  so  near  him,  day  by  day, 
as  to  be  felt  as  a  disturbing  element.  She  looked  upon  her 
dominion  as  reassured  to  her,  and  serenely  continued  the  exer- 
cise of  her  old  privileges.  While  entertaining  the  profoundest 
respect,  not  unmixed  with  a  moderate  degree  of  affection,  for 
her  master,  she  resisted  any  attempt  to  interfere  with  the 
regular  course  of  household  procedure  which  she  had  long 
since  established.  He  was  still  too  ignorant,  indeed,  to  dis- 
pute her  authority  with  any  success,  in-doors ;  but  when  the 
gardening  weather  arrived,  and  she  transferred  her  rule  to  the 
open  air,  his  patience  was  sometimes  severely  tried. 

He  knew,  from  his  boyish  days,  every  square  foot  in  the 
sunny  plot  of  ground — the  broad  alley  down  the  centre,  with 
flower-beds  on  either  side,  producing  pinks,  sweet-williams, 
larkspurs,  mangolds,  and  prince's-feathers,  in  their  succession  ; 
the  clumps  of  roses  at  regular  intervals ;  the  low  trellis,  to  be 
overrun  with  nasturtiums  and  sweet-peas;  the  broad  vegeta- 
ble beds,  divided  by  rows  of  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes, 
and  the  crooked  old  quince-trees  against  the  northern  wall. 


172  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

There  were  they  all,  apparently  unchanged ;  but,  reverently 
as  he  looked  upon  them  for  the  sake  of  the  Past,  he  felt  that 
if  Lakeside  was  to  be  truly  M's  home,  its  features  must,  to 
some  extent,  be  moulded  by  his  own  taste.  The  old  arrange- 
ments could  not  be  retained,  simply  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
associations ;  the  place  must  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  life, 
not  of  death.  In  spite  of  the  admirable  situation  of  the  house, 
its  surroundings  had  been  much  neglected,  and  the  trained 
eye  of  its  master  daily  detected  new  capacities  for  beauty. 

Nothing  of  all  this,  however,  suggested  itself  to  the  ossified 
brain  of  the  housekeeper.  In  her  eyes,  Woodbury  was  but  a 
tenant  of  Mrs.  Dennison,  and  that  lady  would  cry  down  from 
Paradise  to  forbid  the  position  of  her  favorite  plants  and  her 
trees  from  being  changed.  Hence,  Mrs.  Babb  was  almost 
petrified  with  astonishment,  one  warm  morning,  on  Woodbury 
saying  to  her,  as  they  stood  in  the  garden  : 

"  I  shall  extend  the  garden,  so  as  to  take  in  another  half- 
acre.  The  ground  must  be  first  prepared,  so  it  can  scarcely 
be  done  this  spring ;  but,  at  least,  this  first  row  of  currants 
can  be  taken  up  and  set  beyond  the  second.  The  vegetables 
will  then  be  partly  hidden  from  sight,  and  these  beds  can  be 
planted  with  flowers." 

"  O,  the  land  !"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper.  "  Did  a  body 
ever  hear  o'  sich  a  thing  !  Where'll  you  get  your  currans  for 
pies,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  They  won't  bear  a  mite  if  you  take 
'em  up  now.  Besides,  where  am  I  to  plant  peas  and  early 
beans,  if  you  put  flowers  here  ?" 

"  There,"  said  Woodbury,  pointing  to  the  other  end  of  the 
garden. 

"  Why,  I  had  'em  there  last  summer.  Here,  where  these 
cabbages  was,  is  the  right  placer  To  my  thinkin',  there's 
flowers  enough,  as  it  is.  Not  that  I'd  take  any  of  'em  up : 
she  was  always  fond  of  'em,  and  she  was  satisfied  with  my 
fixin'  of  the  garden.  But  there's  them  that  thinks  they  knows 
better.  'T'an't-any  too  big  as  it  was,  and  if  you  take  off  all 
this  here  ground,  we'll  run  out  o'  vegetables  afore  the  sum- 


A   STOUT   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  173 

mer's  over.     Then,  I'll  git  the  blame,  all  over  the  neighbor- 
hood.    People  knows  I  'tend  to  it." 

"  Mrs.  Babb,"  said  Woodbury,  a  little  sternly,  "  I  shall  take* 
care  that  your  reputation  does  not  suffer.  It  is  my  intention 
to  engage  an  experienced  gardener,  who  will  take  all  this 
work  off  your  hands,  for  the  future.  -But  the  improvements  I 
intend  to  make  cannot  be  carried  out  immediately,  and  I  must 
ask  you  to  superintend  the  planting,  this  spring.  You  shall 
have  sufficient  ground  for  all  the  vegetables  we  need,  and  it 
can  make  little  difference  to  you  where  they  grow." 

The  housekeeper  did  not  venture  upon  any  further  remon- 
strance, but  her  heart  was  filled  with  gall  and  bitterness.  She 
could  not  deny  to  herself  Woodbury's  right  to  do  what  he 
pleased  with  his  own,  but  such  innovations  struck  her  as  be- 
ing almost  criminal.  They  opened  the  door  to  endless  con- 
fusions, which  it  distressed  her  to  contemplate,  and  the  end 
whereof  she  could  not  foresee. 

That  evening,  as  Bute  was  shelling  his  seed-corn  in  the 
kitchen,  he  noticed  that  her  thin  lips  were  a  little  more-  tightly 
compressed  than  usual,  while  she  plied  her  knitting-needles 
with  an  energy  that  betrayed  a  serious  disturbance  of  mind. 
Bute  gave  himself  no  concern,  however,  well  knowing  that, 
whatever  it  was,  he  should  hear  it  in  good  time. 

Mrs.  Babb  sighed  in  her  usual  wheezy  manner,  drawing  up 
and  letting  down  her  shoulders  at  the  same  time,  and  knit  a 
few  minutes  longer,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  kitchen  clock. 
At  last  she  said  :  "  Ah,  yes,  it's  well  she's  gone." 

Bute  looked  np,  but  as  she  was  still  inspecting  the  clock,  he 
said  nothing. 

"  I  was  afeard  things  couldn't  stay  as  they  was,"  she  again 
remarked. 

Bute  picked  up  a  fresh  ear,  and  began  grinding  the  butt- 
end  with  a  cob,  to  loosen  the  grains. 

"  It's  hard  to  see  sich  things  a-comin'  on,  in  a  body's  old 
days,"  groaned  the  housekeeper.  This  time  her  gaze  was  re- 
moved from  the  clock,  and  fell  grimly  upon  her  adopted  son. 


174  HANKAH   THFESTON  : 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mother  Forty  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Matter,  Bute  ?  I  should  think  you'd  ha'  seen  it,  if  you 
was  in  the  habit  o'  seem'  furder  than  your  nose.  Things  is 
goin'  to  wrack,  fast  enough.  He  will  have  his  way,  no  matter 
how  onreasonable  it  is." 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  he  ?  But  as  for  bein'  unreasonable, 
I  don't  see  it.  He's  gettin'  the  hang  of  farmin'  matters  ama- 
zin'ly,  and  is  goin'  to  let  me  do  what  I've  been  wantin'  to, 
these  five  year.  Wait  till  we  get  the  gewano,  and  phosphate, 
and  drainin'  and  deep  ploughing  and  you  won't  see  such 
another  farm  in  the  hull  county." 

"  Yes,  and  the  garden  all  tore  to  pieces,"  rejoined  the  house- 
keeper ;  "  if'  she  could  come  out  of  her  grave  next  year,  she 
won't  know  it  ag'in.  And  me,  that's  tended  to  it  this  ever  so 
long,  to  have  a  strange  man,  that  nobody  knows,  stuck  over 
my  head !" 

Bute  bent  his  face  over  the  ear  of  corn,  to  conceal  a 
"malicious  smile.  He  knew  that  all  the  housekeeper  wanted, 
was  to  "  speak  out  her  mind" — after  which  she  would  resign 
herself  to  the  inevitable.  He  accordingly  made  no  further 
reply,  and  commenced  whistling,  very  softly,  "-Barbara 
Allen,"  a  tune  which  of  late  seemed  to  harmonize  with  his 
mood. 

Woodbury,  on  his  part,  was  conscious  of  a  restless  stirring 
of  the  blood,  for  which  his  contact  with  the  housekeeper  was 
in  the  least  degree  responsible.  Her  figure,  nevertheless, 
formed  a  hard,  sharp,  rocky  background,  against  which  was 
projected,  in  double  sweetness  from  the  contrast,  the  soft  out- 
lines of  a  younger  form,  glimmering  indistinctly  through  a 
mist  which  concealed  the  face. 

He  did  not  deceive  himself.  He  saw  that  his  apparent  in- 
dependence wras  a  belligerent  condition,  in  which  he  could 
never  find  adequate  peace  ;  but  not  for  this  reason — not  from 
any  cool  calculations  of  prudence — did  he  long  to  see  the 
household  of  Lakeside  governed  by  its  legitimate  mistress. 
If  the  long  years  of  summer  had  made  his  heart  apathetic  or 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  175 

indifferent,  it  had  not  deadened  his  nature  to  the  subtle  magic 
of  spring.  A  more  delicate  languor  than  that  of  the  tropics 
crept  over  him  in  the  balmy  mornings  ;  all  sounds  and  odors 
of  the  season  fostered  it,  and  new  images  began  to  obtrude 
upon  his  sleeping  as  well  as  his  waking  dreams.  He  knew 
the  symptoms,  and  rejoiced  over  the  reappearance  of  the  old 
disease.  It  was  not  now  the  fever  of  youth,  ignorantly  given 
up  to  its  own  illusions.  He  could  count  the  accelerated  pulsa- 
tions, hold  the  visions  steadily  fast  as  they  arose  in  his  brain, 
and  analyze  while  he  enjoyed  them.  Love  and  Experience 
must  now  go  hand  in  hand,  and  if  an  object  presented  itself, 
the  latter  must  approve  while  the  former  embraced. 

Reviewing,  in  his  mind,  the  women  whom  he  knew,  there 
was  not  one,  he  confessed  to  himself,  whom  he  would  ever, 
probably,  be  able  to  love.  His  acquaintances  in  New  York 
were  bright,  lively  girls — the  associates  of  his  nieces — in  some 
of  whom,  no  doubt,  there  was  a  firm  basis  of  noble  feminine 
character.  It  could  not  be  otherwise ;  yet  the  woman  who 
must  share  his  seclusion,  finding  in  him,  principally,  her 
society,  in  his  home  her  recreation,  in  his  happiness  her  own, 
could  scarcely  be  found  in  that  circle.  Coming  back  to  Ptole- 
my, his  survey  was  equally  discouraging.  He  could  never 
overlook  a  lack  of  intellectual  culture  in  his  wife.  Who  pos- 
sessed that,  unless,  indeed,  Hannah  Thuvston  ?  She,  he  ad- 
mitted, had  both  exquisite  taste  and  a  degree  of  culture  re- 
markable for  the  opportunities  she  enjoyed  ;  but  a  union  with 
her  would  be  a  perpetual  torment.  She,  with  her  morbid 
notions  of  right,  seeing  an  unpardonable  sin  in  every  innocent 
personal  habit !  What  little  she  had  observed  of  his  external 
life  had  evidently  inspired  her  with  a  strong  dislike  of  him ; 
how  could  she  bear  to  know  him  as  he  was — to  look  over  the 
pages  of  his  past  life  ?  His  wife,  he  felt,  must  be  allowed  no 
illusions.  If  she  could  not  find  enough  of  truth  and  manliness 
in  his  heart  to  counterbalance  past  errors  and  present  defects, 
she  should  find  no  admittance  there. 

In  spite  of  these  unavailing  reviews,  one  important  result 


176  HAISTNAH   THUESTON": 

was  attained.  He  would  no  longer,  as  heretofore,  shrink  from 
the  approach  of  love.  From  whatever  quarter  the  guest 
might  come,  the  door  should  be  found  open,  and  the  word 
"  Welcome,"  woven  of  the  evergreen  leaves  of  immortal 
longing,  should  greet  the  arrival. 


A   STOUT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  177 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CONTAINING     CONVERSATIONS     MORE     IMPORTANT     THAN     THEY 
SEEM   TO   BE. 

ONE  balmy  afternoon,  when  the  dandelions- were  beginning  to 
show  their  golden  disks  among  the  grass,  Woodbury  started  on 
foot  for  Ptolemy,  intending  to  take  tea  with  the  Waldos,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  for  a  fortnight.  Sauntering  along  the  road, 
at  the  foot  of  the  eastern  hill,  with  the  dark,  pine-fringed  rocks 
and  the  sparkling  cascade  on  one  hand,  and  the  fresh,  breath- 
ing meadows  on  the  other,  he  found  himself,  at  last,  at  the 
end  of  the  lane  leading  to  the  Merryfield  farm-house,  and 
paused,  attracted  by  the  roseate  Iblush  of  a  Judas-tree  in  the 
garden.  The  comfortable  building,  with  its  barn  and  out- 
houses, seemed  to  bask  in  happy  warmth  and  peace,  half-hid- 
den in  a  nest  of  fruit-trees  just  bursting  into  bloom.  The 
fences  around  them  had  been  newly  whitewashed,  and  gleamed 
like  snow  against  the  leafing  shrubbery.  An  invigorating 
smell  of  earth  came  from  the  freshly-ploughed  field  to  the  south. 
Every  feature  of  the  scene  spoke  of  order,  competence,  and 
pastoral  contentment  and  repose. 

In  such  a  mood,  he  forgot  the  occasional  tedium  of  the 
farmer's  talk,  and  the  weak  pretensions  of  his  wife,  and  only 
remembered  that  he  had  not  seen  them  for  some  time.  Turning 
into  the  lane,  he  wralked  up  to  the  house,  where  he  was  cordi- 
ally received  by  Mr.  Merryfield.  "  Come  in,"  said  the  latter : 
"  Sarah's  looking  over  seeds,  or  something  of  the  kind,  with 
Miss  Thurston,  but  she'll  be  down  presently.  You  recollect 
Mr.  Dyce  ?"  The  last  words  were  spoken  as  they  entered  the 

R* 


1V8  HANNAH  TIIUKSTON: 

room,  where  the  medium,  with  his  sallow,  unwholesome  face, 
sat  at  an  open  window,  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  a  thick 
pamphlet.  He  rose  and  saluted  Woodbuiy,  though  by  no 
means  with  cordiality. 

"  How  delightful  a  home  you  have  here,  Mr.  Merryfield," 
Woodbury  said.  "  You  need  not  wish  to  change  places  with 
any  one.  An  independent  American  farmer,  with  his  affairs 
in  such  complete  order  that  the  work  almost  goes  on  of  it- 
self, from  year  to  year,  seems  to  me  the  most  fortunate  of 
men." 

"Well — yes — 1  ought  to  be  satisfied,"  answered  the  host : 
"  I  sometimes  wish  for  a  wider  spere,  but  I  suppose  it's  best 
as  it  is." 

"  Oh,  be  sure  of  that !"  exclaimed  Woodbury :  "  neither  is 
your  sphere  a  narrow  one,  if  it  is  rightly  filled." 

"  Nothing  is  best  as  it  is,"  growled  Mr.  Dyce,  from  the  win- 
dow, at  the  same  time ;  "  private  property,  family,  isolated 
labor,  are  all  wrong." 

Woodbury  turned  to  the  speaker,  with  a%  sudden  doubt  of 
his  sanity,  but  Mr.  Merryfield  was  not  in  the  least  surprised. 

"You  know,  Mr.  Dyce,""  said  he,  "that  I  can't  go  that  far. 
The  human  race  may  come  to  that  in  the  course  of  time,  as  it 
were,  but  I'm  too  old  to  begin." 

"Nobody  is  too  old  for  the  Truth,"  rejoined  the  medium,  so 
insolently  that  Woodbury  felt  an  itching  desire  to  slap  him  in 
the  face, — "  especially,  when  it's  already  demonstrated.  Here's 
the  whole  thing,"  he  continued,  giving  the  pamphlet  a  whack 
on  the  window-sill :  "  read  it,  and  you'll  find  how  much  better 
off  we  are  without  those  selfish  institutions,  marriage  and  the 
right  to  property." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Woodbury. 

"  It's  the  annual  report  of  the  Perfectionists.  They  have  a 
community  near  Aqueanda,  where  theft  principles  are  put  in 
practice.  Every  thing  is  in  common :  labor  is  so  divided  that 
no  one  feels  the  burden,  yet  all  live  comfortably.  The  children 
are  brought  up  all  together,  and  so  the  drudgery  of  a  family  is 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  179 

avoided.     Besides,  love  is  not  slavery,  but  freedom,  and  the 
affections  are  true  because  they  do  not  wear  legal  chains." 

"  Good  God !  Is  this  true  ?"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  turning 
to  Mr.  Merryfield. 

"I  believe  it  is,"  he  answered.  "I've  read  part  of  the  re- 
port, and  there  are  queer  things  in  it.  Even  if  the  doctrine  is 
right,  I  don't  think  mankind  is  fit  for  it  yet.  I  shouldn't  like, 
even,  to  let  everybody  read  that  -book :  though,  to  be  sure, 
we  might  be  much  more  outspoken  than  we  are." 

"Read  it,"  said  Mr.  Dyce,  thrusting  the  pamphlet  into 
Woodbury's  hand.  "It's  unanswerable.  If  you  are  not 
blinde4  by  the  lies  and  hypocrisies  of  Society,  you  will  see 
what  the  true  life  of  Man  should  be.  Society  is  the  Fall,  sir, 
and  we.  can  restore  the  original  paradise  of  Adam  whenever 
we  choose  to  free  ourselves  from  its  tyranny." 

"  No  doubt,  provided  we  are  naturally  sinless,  like  Adam," 
Woodbury  could  not  help  saying,  as  he  took  the  pamphlet. 
He  had  no  scruples  in  receiving  and  reading  it,  for  he  was  not 
one  of  those  delicate,  effeminate  minds,  who  are  afraid  to  look 
on  error  lest  they  may  be  infected.  His  principles  were  so 
Avell-based  that  every  shock  only  settled  them  the  more  firmly. 
He  had  never  preferred  ignorance  to  unpleasant  knowledge, 
and  all  of  the  latter  which  he  had  gained  had  not  touched  the 
sound  manliness  of  his  nature. 

"  We  are !"  cried  Mr.  Dyce,  in  answer  to  his  remark. 
"  The  doctrine  of  original  sin  is  the  basis  of  all  the  wrongs  of 
society.  It  is  false.  Human  nature  is  pure  in  all  its  instincts, 
and  we  distort  it  by  our  selfish  laws.  Our  life  is  artificial  and 
unnatural.  If  we  had  no  rights  of  property  we  should  have 
no  theft :  if  we  had  no  law  of  marriage  we  should  have  no  li- 
centiousness :  if  we  had  no  Governments,  we  should  have  no 
war." 

Mr.  Merryfield  did  not  seem  able  to  answer  these  declara- 
tions, absurd  as  they  were,  and  Woodbury  kept  silent,  from 
self-respect.  The  former,  however,  was  stronger  in  his  instincts 
than  in  his  powers  of  argument,  and  shrank,  with  a  sense  o^ 


180  HANNAH    THUESTON  : 

painful  repugnance,  from  a  theory  which  he  was  unable  to  com- 
bat. Mr.  Dyce's  prolonged  visit  was  beginning  to  be  disa- 
greeable to  him.  His  ambition  to  be  considered  a  prominent 
reformer  was  his  weak  side,  and  his  freely-offered  hospitality 
to  the  various  apostles  had  given  him  a  consideration  which 
misled  him.  His  kindness  had  thus  frequently  been  imposed 
upon,  but  the  secret  fear  of  losing  his  place  had  prevented  him, 
hitherto,  from  defending  himself. 

*  Mr.  Dyce,  on  the  other  hand,  was  one  of  those  men  who  are 
not  easily  shaken  off.  He  led  a  desultory  life,  here  and  there, 
through  New  York  and  the  New  England  States,  presiding  at 
spiritual  sessions  in  the  houses  of  the  believers,  among  whom 
he  had  acquired  a  certain  amount  of  reputation  as  a  medium. 
Sometimes  his  performances  were  held  in  public  (admittance 
ten  cents),  in  the  smaller  towns,  and  he  earned  enough  in  this 
way  to  pay  his  necessary  expenses.  When  he  discovered  a  be- 
lieving family,  in  good  circumstances,  especially  where  the 
table  was  well  supplied,  he  would  pitch  his  tent,  for  days,  or 
weeks,  as  circumstances  favored.  Such  an  oasis  in  the  desert 
of  existence  he  had  found  at  Mr.  Merryfield's,  and  the  discom- 
fort of  the  meek  host  at  his  prolonged  stay,  which  would  have 
been  sufficiently  palpable  to  a  man  of  the  least  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing, was  either  unnoticed  by  him,  or  contemptuously  ignored. 

Woodbury  read  the  man  at  a  glance,  and  received,  also,  a 
faint  suspicion  of  Mr.  Merryfield's  impatience  at  -his  stay;  but 
he,  himself,  had  little  patience  with  the  latter's  absurdities,  and 
was  quite  content  that  he  should  endure  the  punishment  he 
had  invoked. 

Putting  the  pamphlet  in  his  pocket,  and  turning  to  Mr.  Dyce, 
he  said :  "  I  shall  read  this,  if  only  to  find  out  the  point  at 
which  Progress  becomes  Reaction — where  Moral  Reform 
shakes  hands  with  Depravity." 

The  medium's  sallow  face  grew  livid,  at  the  firm  coolness 
with  which  these  words  were  spoken.  Pie  half-started  from  his 
seat,  but  sank  back  again,  and  turning  his  head  to  the  window, 
gave  a  contemptuous  snort  from  his  thin  nostrils. 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  181 

"  There  is  mischief  in  that  man,"  thought  Woodbury. 
Mr.  Merryfield,  in  spite  of  his  trepidation — for  he  was  a 
thorough  physical  coward,  and  the  moral  courage  on  which  he 
plumed  himself  was  a  sham  article,  principally  composed  of 
vanity — nevertheless  felt  a  sense  of  relief  from  Woodbury's 
composed,  indifferent  air.  Here,  at  least,  was  one  man  who 
could  meet  the  vampire  unconcernedly,  and  drive,  if  need  be, 
a  stake  through  his  gorged  carcass.  For  once,  he  regretted 
that  he  did  not  possess  a  similar  quality.  It  was  almost  resist- 
ance, he  was  aware,  and  the  man  capable  of  it  might  probably 
be  guilty  of  the  crime  (as  he  considered  it)  of  using  physical 
force ;  but  he  dimly  recognized  it  in  a  refreshing  element  of 
strength.  He  did  not  feel  quite  so  helpless  as  usual  in  Wood- 
bury's presence,  after  that. 

Still,  he  dreaded  a  continuance  of  the  conversation.  "Will 
you  come,  as  it  were" — said  he ;  "  that  is,  would  you  like" 

Woodbury,  who  had  turned  his  back  upon  Mr.  Dyce,  after 
speaking,  suddenly  interrupted  him  with  :  "  How  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Merryfield  ?" 

The  mistress  of  the  house,  passing  through  the  hall,  had 
paused  at  the  ope'n  door.  Behind  her  came  Hannah  Thurston, 
in  her  bonnet,  with  a  satchel  on  her  arm. 

After  the  greetings  were  over,  Mrs.  Merryfield  said  :  "  We 
were  going  into  the  garden." 

"  Pray,  allow  me  to  accompany  you,"  said  Woodbury. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  care  about  flowers  and  things." 

The  garden  was  kid  out  on  the  usual  plan  :  a  central  alley, 
bordered  with  flower-beds,  vegetables  beyond,  and  currants 
planted  along  the  fence.  It  lay  open  to  the  sun,  sheltered  by 
n,  spur  of  the  eastern  ridge,  and  by  the  orchard  to  the  left  of  the 
house.  In  one  corner  stood  a  Judas-tree,  every  spray  thickly 
hung  with  the  vivid  rose-colored  blossoms.  The  flowers  were 
farther  advanced  than  at  Lakeside,  for  the  situation  was  much 
lower  and  warmer,  and  there  had  been  no  late  frosts.  The 
hyacinths  reared  their  blue  and  pink  pagodas,  filling  the  walk 
with  their  opulent  breath  ;  the  thick  green  buds  of  the  tulips 


182  HANNAH    THUESTOX  I 

began  to  show  points  of  crimson,  and  the  cushiony  masses  of 
mountain-pink  fell  over  the  boarded  edges  of  the  beds. 

Mrs.  Merryfield  had  but  small  knowledge  of  floriculture.  Her 
beds  were  well  kept,  however,  but  from  habit,  rather  than  taste. 
"'My  pineys  won't  do  well,  this  year,  I  don't  think,"  said  she  : 
"  this  joon-dispray  rose  is  too  near  them.  Here's  plenty  of 
larkspurs  and  coreopsisses  coming  up,  Hannah  ;  don't  you  want 
some  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  garden  is  wild  with  them,"  Miss  Thurston 
answered,  "but  I  will  take  a  few  plants  of  the  flame-colored 
marigold,  if  you  have  them  to  spare." 

"  Oh,  that's  trash  ;  take  them  all,  if  you  like." 

"  Miss  Thurston,"  said  Woodbury,  suddenly,  "  would  you 
like  to  have  some  bulbs  of  gladeolus  and  tiger-lily  ?  I  have  just 
received  a  quantity  from  Rochester." 

"  Very  much  indeed  :  you  are  very  kind,"  she  said.  "  How 
magnificent  they  are,  in  color !"  The  next  moment,  she  was 
vexed  at  herself  for  having  accepted  the  offer,  and  said  no 
more. 

Mrs.  Merryfield',  having  found  the  marigolds,  took  up  a 
number  and  placed  them  in  a  basket,  adding  various  other 
plants  of  whiclTshe  had  a  superfluity.  As  they  left  the  gar- 
den, Woodbury  quietly  took  the  basket,  saying :  "  I  am  walk- 
ing to  Ptolemy  also,  Miss  Thurston." 

It  was  impossible  to  decline  his  company,  though  the 
undefinable  sense  of  unrest  with  which  his  presence  always 
affected  her,  made  the  prospect  of  the  wal£  far  from  agreeable. 
Side  by  side  they  passed  down  the  lane,  and  had  nearly  gained 
the  highway,  when  Woodbury  broke  the  silence  by  saying : 

"What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Dyce?" 

Hannah  Thurston  was  a  little  startled  by  the  unexpected 
question.  "I  have  scarcely  formed  an  opinion,"  she  answered  : 
"  it  may  not  be  just  to  decide  from  impressions  only.  If  I  did 
so,  the  decision  would- not  be  favorable  to  him." 

"  You  are  right !"  he  exclaimed,  with  energy.  "  Do  not 
speak  to  him  again !  I  beg  pardon,"  he  added,  apologetically, 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  183 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  dictatorial ;  but  the  man  is  thoroughly 
false  and  bad." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Only  what  I  have  myself  observed.  I  have  learned  to 
trust  my  instincts,  because  I  find  that  what  we  call  instinct  is 
only  a  rapid  and  subtle  faculty  of  observation.  A  man  can 
never  completely  disguise  himself,  and  we  therefore  see  him 
most  truly  at  the  first  glance,  before  his  powers  of  deception 
can  be  exercised  upon  us." 

"It -may  be  true,"  she  said,  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  "but 
one's  prejudices  are  so  arbitrary.  How  can  we  know  that  we 
are  right,  in  yielding  to  them?" 

For  a  moment,  a  sharp  retort  hovered  on  Woodbury's 
tongue.  How  can  we  know,  he  might  have  said,  that  we  are 
right  in  accepting  views,  the  extreme  character  of  which  is 
self-evident?  How  can  we,  occupying  an  exceptional  place, 
dare  to  pronounce  rigid,  unmitigated  judgment  on  all  the  rest 
of  mankind  ?  But  the  balmy  spring  day  toned  him  to  gentle- 
ness. The  old  enchantment  of  female  presence  stole  over  him, 
as  when  it  surrounded  each  fair  face  with  a  nimbus,  to  the  nar- 
cotized vision  of  youth.  One  glance  at  his  companion  swept 
away  the  harsh  words.  A  tender  gleam  of  color  flushed  her 
cheeks,  and  the  lines  of  her  perfect  lips  were  touched  with  a 
pensive  softness.  Her  eyes,  fixed  at  the  moment  on  the  hill 
beyond  the  farther  valley,  were  almost  as  soft  as  a  violet  in  hue. 
He  had  never  before  seen  her  in  the  strong  test  of  sunshine, 
and  remarked  that  ijpr  a  face  like  hers  it  was  no  disenchant- 
ment. She  might  be  narrow  and  bigoted,  he  felt,  but  she  was 
nevertheless  true,  earnest,  and  pure. 

"  We  are  not  required  to  exhibit  our  prejudices,"  he  said. 
"In  Society,  disagreeable  persons  are  still  individuals,  and 
have  certain  claims  upon  us.  But,  after  all  the  latitude  we  are 
required  to  grant,  a  basis  of  character  must  be  exacted.  Do 
you  think  a  man  consciously  false  and  depraved  should  be  tol- 
erated on  account  of  a  coincidence  in  opinions  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  replied. 


184  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

Woodbury  then  related  the  incident  of  the  piano.  He  be- 
gan to  feel  a  friendly  pity  for  the  girl  walking  beside  him. 
Her  intense  earnestness,  he  saw,  and  her  ignorance  of  the  true 
nature  of  men,  were  likely  to  betra^y  her,  as  in  the  present  case, 
into  associations,  the  thought  of  which  made  him  shudder.  He 
would  at  least  save  her  from  this,  and  therefore  told  the  story, 
with  an  uncomfortable  sense,  all  the  while,  of  the  pamphlet  in 
his  pocket. 

Hannah  Thurston  was  unfeignedly  shocked  at  the  deception 
of  Mr.  Dyce.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me  this,"  said  she, 
"for  I  wanted  a 'justification  for  avoiding  him.  Have  you 
mentioned  it  to  the  Merryfields  ?" 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  know  that  they  are  too  infatuated 
with  the  spiritual  delusion  to  believe  it.  He  would  have  an 
explanation  ready,  as  he  had  that  night.  Moreover,  it  would 
cost  Bute,  who  gave  me  the  details  in  confidence,  the  loss  of 
two  friends.  For  his  sake  let  it  still  be  confidential." 

She  met  his  deep  brown  eyes,  and  bowed  in  reply.  He 
plucked  the  stalk  of  a  dandelion,  as  they  went  along,  pinched 
off  the  flower,  split  the  lower  end,  and  putting  it  into  his 
mouth,  blew  a  tiny  note,  as  from  a  fairy  trumpet.  His  man- 
ner was  so  serious  that  Hannah  Thurston  looked  away  lest  he 
should  see  her  smile. 

"  You  are  laughing,  I  know,"  said  he,  taking  the  stalk  from 
his  mouth,  "  and  no  wonder.  I  suddenly  recollected  having 
blown  these  horns,  as  a  boy.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  boy- 
ish, to  see  spring  again,  for  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years.  I 
wonder  if  the  willow  switches  are  too  dry.  Henry  Denison 
and  I  used  to  make  very  tolerable  flutes  of  them,  but  we  never 
could  get  more  than  four  or  five  notes." 

"Then  you  value  your  early  associations?"  she  asked. 

"  Beyond  all  others  of  my  life,  I  think.  Is  it  not  pleasant, 
to  look  back  to  a  period  when  every  thing  was  good,  when  all 
men  and  women  were  infinitely  wise  and  benevolent,  when  life 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  185 

took  care  of  itself  and  the  future  was  whatever  you  chose  to 
make  it?  Now,  when  I  know  the  world — know  it,  Miss 
Thurston" — and  his  voice  was  grave  and  .sad — "  to  be  far 
worse  than  you,  or  any  other  pure  woman  suspects,  and  still 
keep  my  faith  in  the  Good  that  shall  one  day  be  triumphant, 
I  can  smile  at  my  young  ignorance,  but  there  is  still  a  glory 
around  it.  Do  you  know  Wordsworth's  Ode  ?" 

"  Yes — '  the  light  that  never  was.  on  sea  or  land.'  " 

"  Never — until  after  it  has -gone  by.  We  look  back  and  see 
it.  Why,  do  you  know  that  I  looked  on  Mrs.  Merryfield  as  a 
Greek  must  have  looked  on  the  Delphian  Pythoness  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  laughed,  and  then  suddenly  checked  her- 
seif.  She  could  not  see  one  of  her  co-workers  in  the  Great 
Cause  ridiculed,  even  by  intimation.  The  chord  he  had 
touched  ceased  to  vibrate.  The  ease  with  which  he  recov- 
ered from  a  deeper  tone  and  established  conversation  again  in 
mental  shallows,  annoyed  her  all  the  more,  that  it  gratified 
some  latent  instinct  of  her  own  mind.  She  distrusted  the 
influence  which,  in  spite  of  herself,  Woodbury  exercised  upon 
her. 

"  I  see  your  eyes  wander  off  to  the  hills,"  he  said,  after  an 
interval  of  silence.  "  They  are  very  lovely  to-day.  In  this 
spring  haze  the  West  Ridge  appears  to  be  as  high  as  the 
Jura.  How  it  melts  into  the  air,  far  up  the  valley !  The 
effect  of  mountains,  I  think,  depends  more  on  atmosphere 
tha^i  on  their  actual  height.  You  could  imagine  this  valley  to 
be  one  of  the  lower  entrances  to  the  Alps.  By  the  way,  Miss 
Thurston,  this  must  have  given  you  a  suggestion  of  them. 
How  did  you  manage  to  get  such  a  correct  picture  in  your 
mind  ?" 

She  turned  her  surprised  face  full  towards  him.  The 
dreamy  expression  which  softened  its  outline,  and  hovered 
in  the  luminous  depth  of  her  eyes,  did  not  escape  him. 

"Oh,  I  know  it,"  he  added,  laughing.  "What  was  the 
song  you  sang  at  Mr.  Bue's  ?  Something  about  an  Alpine 
hunter :  it  made  me  think  I  was  standing  on  the  Schei- 


1 86  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

deck,  watching  the  avalanches  tumbling  down  from  the  Jung- 
frau." 

"You  have  been  in -Switzerland,  Mr.  Woodbury!"  she 
exclaimed,  with  animation. 

"  Yes,  on  my  way  from  England  to  India." 

He  described  to  her  his  Swiss  tour,  inspired  to  prolong  the 
narrative  by  the  eager  interest  she  exhibited.  The  landscapes 
of  the  higher  Alps  stood  clear  in  his  memory,  and  he  had  the 
faculty  of  translating  them  distinctly  into  words.  Commenc- 
ing with  the  valley  of  the  Reuss,  he  took  her  with  him  over 
the  passes  of  the  Furca  and  the  Grimsel,  and  had  only  reached 
the  falls  of  the  Aar,  when  the  gate  of  the  Widow  Thurston's 
cottage  shut  down  upon  the  Alpine  trail. 

"  We  will  finish  the  trip  another  time,"  said  Woodbury,  as 
he  opened  the  gate  for  her. 

"  How  much  I  thank  you !  I  seem  to  have  been  in  Switzer- 
land, myself.  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  sing  the  song  better, 
from  knowing  its  scenery." 

She  offered  him  her  hand,  which  he  pressed  cordially.  "I 
should  like  to  call  upon  your  mother  again,"  he  said. 

"  She  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

As  he  walked  down  the  street  towards  the  Cimmerian  par- 
sonage, his  thoughts  ran  somewhat  in  this  wise :  "  How  much 
natural  poetry  and  enthusiasm  that  girl  has  in  her  nature !  It 
is  refreshing  to  describe  any  thing  to  her,  she  is  so  absorbed  in 
receiving  it.  What  a  splendid  creature  she  might  have  be- 
come, under  other  circumstances  !  But  here  she  is  hopelessly 
warped  and  distorted.  Nature  intended  her  for  a  woman  and 
a  wife,  and  the  role  of  a  man  and  an  apostle  is  a  monstrous  per- 
version. I  do  not  know  whether  she  most  attracts  me  through 
what  she  might  have  been,  or  repels  me  through  what  she  is. 
She  suggests  the  woman  I  am  seeking,  only  to  show  me  how 
vain  the  search  must  be.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

Pursuing  these  reflections,  he  was  about  passing  the  parson- 
age without  recognizing  it,  when  a  cheery  voice  rang  out  to 
him  from  the  open  door : 


A    STOKY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  187 

"  Have  you  lost  the  way,  Mr.  Woodbury  ?" 

'"Not  lost,  but  gone  before,'  "  said  he,  as  he  turned  back 
to  the  gate. 

"What  profanity!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo,  though  sho 
laughed  at  the  same  time.  "Come  in:  our  serious  season  is 
over.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  keep  a  melancholy  face,  for  two 
weeks  longer,  to  encourage  the  new  converts,  but  what  is  one 
to  do,  when  one's  nature  is  dead  against  it?" 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Waldo,"  replied  Woodbury,  "  if  you  suffered 
under  your  faith,  instead  of  rejoicing  in  it,  I  should  doubt  your 
Christianity.  I  look  upon  myself  as  one  of  your  converts." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  given  to  backsliding." 

"  Only  for  the  pleasure  of  being  reconverted,"  said  he  ;  "  but 
come — be  my  mother-confessoress.  I  am  in  great  doubt  and 
perplexity." 

"  And  you  come  to  a  woman  for  help  ?     Delightful !" 

"  Even  so.  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me,  when 
I  picked  you  up  out  of  the  wreck,  last  winter  ?  But  I  see  you 
do  not.  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  is  a  tyrant." 

Mrs.  Waldo  was  not  deceived  by  this  mock  lamentation. 
He  would  not  first  have  felt  the  tyranny  now,  she  knew,  unless 
a  stronger  feeling  made  it  irksome. 

"  Ah  ha  !  you  have  found  it  out,"  she  said.  "  Well — you 
know  the  remedy." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;  but  what  I  do  not  know  is — the  woman 
who  should  take  her  place." 

"Don't  you?"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  with  a  sigh,  "then,  of 
course,  I  do  not." 

"  I  walked  from  Merryfield's,  this  afternoon,  with  Hannah 
Thurston,"  he  presently  remarked. 

"  Well  ?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"What  a  perversion  of  a  fine  woman!  I  lose  my  tem- 
per when  I  think  of  it.  I  came  very  near  being  rude  to  her." 

"  You  rude  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  then  she  must  have 
provoked  you  beyond  endurance." 

"  Not  by  any  .thing  she  said,  but  simply  by  what  she  is." 


188  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

"  What,  pray  ?" 

'•  A  '  stroDg-minded  woman.'  Heaven  keep  me  from  all 
such !  I  have  will  enough  for  two,  and  my  household  shall 
never  have  more  than  one  head." 

"  That's  sound  doctrine,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  hearing  the  last 
words  as  he  entered  the  room. 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  189 


CHAPTER    XV. 

WHICH    COMES   NEAR   BEING   TRAGIC. 

IN  the  beginning  of  June,  the  Merryfields  received  ad- 
ditional guests.  Among  their  acquaintances  in  New  York 
city  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitlow,  whom  they  had  met  during 
the  Annual  Convention  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Society.  Mr. 
Whitlow  was  a  prosperous  grocer,  who  had  profited  by  selling 
"  free  sugar"  at  two  cents  a  pound  more  than  the  product  of 
slave  labor,  although  the  former  was  an  inferior  article.  He 
was  very  bitter  in  his  condemnation  of  the  Manchester  manu 
facturers,  on  account  of  their  consumption  of  cotton.  The 
Merryfields  had  been  present  at  a  tea-party  given  by  him  to 
Mr.  Wendell  Phillips,  and  the  circumstance  was  not  forgotten 
by  their  hosts.  When  the  latter  shut  up  their  house  in  the 
respectable  upper  part  of  Mercer  street,  in  order  to  make  a 
summer  trip  to  Lake  Superior  by  way  of  Niagara,  they  de- 
termined to  claim  a  return  for  their  hospitality.  Tea  in  Mercer 
street  was  equivalent,  in  their  eyes,  to  a  week's  entertainment 
at  Ptolemy.  If  not,  they  could  invite  the  Merryfields  again, 
at  the  next  Convention,  which  would  certainly  balance  the 
account. 

Accordingly,  one  fine  evening,  the  stage  from-  Atauga  City 
brought  to  Ptolemy,  and  a  carriage  from  Fairlamb's  livery- 
stable  forwarded  to  the  Merryfield  farm,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whit- 
low, and  their  two  daughters,  Mary  Wollstonecraft  Whitlow, 
aged  thirteen,  and  Phillis  Wheatley  Whitlow,  aged  nine 
— together  with  four  trunks.  The  good-natured  host  was 
overwhelmed  with  this  large  arid  unexpected  visit,  and  feebly 
endeavored  to  obtain  a  signal  from  his  wife  as  to  whether  they 


1  90  HANNAH    THUESTO-N  I 

could  be  conveniently  accommodated,  during  the  bustle  of 
arrival. 

"  If  I  had  knowed,  as  it  were,  that  you  were  coming," 
said  he. 

"  Oh,  we  thought  we  would  take  you  by  surprise :  it's  so 
much  pleasanter,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whitlow,  a  tall,  gaunt 
woman,  who  displayed  a  pair  of  large  feet  as  she  clambered 
down  from  the  carriage.  She  thereupon  saluted  Mrs.  Merry- 
field  with  a  kiss  which  sounded  like  the  splitting  of  a 
dry  chip. 

'Mary  Wollstonecraft  and  Phillis  Wheatley  scampered  off 
around  the  house  and  into  the  garden  as  soon  as  they  touched 
ground.  They  amused  themselves  at  first  by  pulling  up  the 
early  radishes,  to  see  how  long  their  roots  were,  but  after  a 
while  were  attracted  by  the  tulips,  and  returned  to  the  house 
with  hnndfuls  of  the  finest. 

"  Where  did  you  get  those  ?"  said  their  mother ;  "  I  am 
afraid  they  have  taken  too  many,"  she  added,  turning  towards 
Mrs.  Merryfield,  u  but  the  dear  children  are  so  fond  of  flowers. 
I  think  it  elevates  them  and  helps  to  form  their  character. 
The  Beautiful  and  the  Good,  you  know,  are  one  and  the  same." 

"  Yes,  but  it  ought  to  be  directed,"  replied  Mrs.  Merryfield, 
without  exactly  knowing  what  she  was  saying.  She  saw,  in 
imagination,  her  garden  stripped  bare,  and  was  meditating 
how  she  could  prevent  it.  Her  husband  put  a  padlock  on  the 
gate  next  morning,  and  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Phillis 
Wheatley  was  discovered  hanging  by  her  frock  from  the 
paling. 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  The  Whitlows  had  come  to  stay, 
and  they  stayed.  Mr.  Dyce  was  obliged  to  give  up  his  oc- 
cupancy of  the  best  bedroom,  and  take  a  small  chamber  under 
the  roof.  Merryfield  hoped,  but  in  vain,  that  this  new  dis- 
comfort would  drive  him  away.  The  new-comers  were  ac- 
quaintances of  his,  and  although  not  spiritualists,  yet  they  were 
very  free  to  discuss  the  peculiar  doctrines  of  the  Aqueanda 
community. 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  191 

Day  by  day,  Mrs.  Merry  field  saw  her  choice  hams  and  her 
cherished  fowls  disappearing  before  the  onslaught  of  her 
guests.  Her  reserve  of  jams  and  marmalades  was  so  drawn 
upon  that  she  foresaw  its  exhaustion  before  the  summer's  fruit 
could  enable  her  to  replenish  it.  Mary  Wollstonecraft  and 
Phillis  Wheatley  were  especially  destructive,  in  this  respect, 
and  very  frankly  raised  a  clamor  for  "  preserves,"  when  there 
happened  to  be  none  on  the  table.  Their  mother  mildly  tol- 
erated this  infraction  of  good  behavior  on  their  part. 

"  They  make  themselves  at  home,"  she  would  remark,  turn- 
ing to  the  hostess  with  an  amiable  smile.  "  I  think  we  should 
allow  some  liberty  to  the  dietetic  instincts  of  children.  Alcott 
says,  you  know,  that  '  like  feeds  like — the  unclean  spirit  licks 
carnage  and  blood  from  his  trencher.'  " 

"  Gracious  me !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merryfield,  shuddering. 

"Yes:  and  in  the  scale  of  Correspondences  saccharine  sub- 
stances are  connected  with  gentleness  of  heart.  I  rejoice  to 
see  this  development  in  the  dear  children.  Do  you  preserve 
with  free  sugar  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  hostess,  with  a  faint  salmon-colored  blush, 
"  we  can't  get  it  in  Ptolemy.  I  should  like  to  bear  testimony 
in  this  way,  if  it  was  possible,  but  there  are  so  few  in  this 
neighborhood  who  are  interested  in  the  cause  of  Humanity, 
that  we  cannot  do  as  much  as  we  desire." 

"Why  don't  you  apply  to  me?"  said  Mr.  Whitlow.  "No- 
thing easier  than  to  buy  two  or  three  barrels  at  a  time,  and 
have  it  sent  by  rail.  It  will  cost  you  no  more  than  this" — 
putting  a  spoonful  of  quince  jelly  into  his  mouth — "  which  is 
stained  with  the  blood  of  the  slave."  He  saicl  nothing,  how- 
ever, about  the  quality  of  the  sugar,  which  was  a  very  coarse, 
brown  article,  purporting  to  come  from  Port-au-Prince. 

Fortunately,  Mr.  Merryfield's  corn  had  been  planted  before 
the  arrival  of  his  guests.  Otherwise,  there  would  have  been  a 
serious  interference  with  his  farming  operations.  Every 
pleasant  afternoon,  the  Whitlows  laid  claim  to  his  carriage  and 
horses,  and,  accepting  the  services  of'  Mr.  Dyce  as  coachman, 


192  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

drove  up  and  down  the  valleys,  and  even  to  the  summits  of 
the  hills,  to  obtain  the  best  views.  The  very  freedom  with 
which  they  appropriated  to  their  use  and  comfort  all  the  ap- 
pliances which  the  farm  furnished,  imposed  upon  their  kind- 
hearted  hosts.  In  the  eyes  of  the  latter,  claims  so  openly- 
made  involved  the  existence  of  a  right  of  some  kind,  though 
precisely  what  the  right  was,  they  could  not  clearly  under- 
stand. 

When  Mrs.  Whitlow,  therefore,  whose  devotion  to  "Na- 
ture" was  one  of  her  expressed  characteristics,  proposed  a 
pic-nic  for  the  following  Saturday  afternoon,  it  was  accepted 
without  demur,  as  one  of  the  ordinances  of  Destiny.  The 
weather  had  suddenly  grown  warm,  and  the  deciduous  trees 
burst  into  splendid  foliage,  the  luxuriant  leaves  of  summer  still 
wearing  the  fresh  green  of  spring-time.  All  the  lower  portion 
of  the  valley,  and  its  cleft  branches  beyond  Ptolemy,  from 
rim  to  jim  of  the  enclosing  hills,  hummed  and  stirred  with 
an  overplus  of  life.  The  woods  were  loud  with  birds ;  a  tiny 
overture  of  insect  horns  and  drums,  in  the  meadows,  preluded 
the  drama  of  their  ephemeral  life ;  the  canes  of  maize  shot  the 
brown  fields  wTith  points  of  shining  green,  and  the  wheat  be- 
gan to  roll  in  shallow  ripples  under  the  winds  of  the  lake. 
Mrs.  Whitlow's  proposal  was  well-timed,  in  a  land  where  the 
beautiful  festival  of  Pentecost  is  unknown,  and  it  did  the 
Merryfields  no  harm  that  they  were  forced,  against  their  habit, 
to  celebrate  the  opening  season. 

Not  more  than  a  mile  from  the  farm-house  there  was  a  spot 
admirably  adapted  for  the  purpose.  It  was  a  favorite  resort, 
during  the  summer,  of  the  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  of 
Ptolemy,  and  sometimes,  even,  had  been  honored  by  the  visit 
of  a  party  from  Tiberius.  Roaring  Brook,  which  had  its  rise 
some  miles  distant,  among  the  hollows  of  the  upland,  issued 
from  a  long  glen  which  cleft  East  Atauga  Hill  at  the  point 
where  it  bent  away  from  the  head  of  the  lake,  to  make  its 
wider  sweep  around  to  the  cape  beyond  Lakeside.  At  this 
point  there  was  a  slightly  shelving  terrace,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 


A    STOEY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  193 

in  breadth,  thrust  out  like  the  corner  of  a  pedestal  upon  which 
the  hill  had  formerly  rested.  The  stream,  after  lending  a  part 
of  its  strength,  to  drive  a  saw-mill  at  the  mouth  of  the  glen, 
passed  swiftly  across  the  terrace,  twisting  its  way  through 
broken,  rocky  ground,  to  the  farther  edge,  whence  it  tumbled 
in  a  cataract  to  the  valley.  The  wall  of  rock  was  crowned 
with  a  thick  growth  of  pine,  cedar,  maple,  and  aspen  trees,  and 
the  stream,  for  the  last  hundred  .yards  of  its  course,  slid 
through  deep,  cool  shadows,  to  flash  all  the  more  dazzlingly 
into  the  sunshine  of  its  fall.  From  the  brink  there  were  lovely 
views  of  the  valley  and  lake ;  and  even  within  the  grove,  as 
far  as  a  flat  rock,  which  served  as  a  table  for  the  gay  parties, 
penetrated  glimpses  of  the  airy  distance. 

The  other  members  of  the  little  band  of  "  Reformers  "  in 
Ptolemy  were  invited  to  take  part  in  the  pic-nic.  The  Whit- 
lows desired  and  expected  this,  and  would  have  considered 
themselves  slighted,  had  the  invitations  been  omitted.  Mrs. 
Waldo  was  included,  at  the  request  of  Hannah  Thurston,  who 
knew  her  need  of  recreation  and  her  enjoyment  of  it.  Be- 
sides, she  was  sure  that  Mr.  Dyce  would  be  there,  and  sus- 
pected the  presence  of  Seth  Wattles,  and  she  felt  the  advan- 
tage of  being  accompanied  by  a  brave  and  sensible  friend. 
Mr.  Waldo  was  obliged  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Trustees 
of  the  Cimmerian  Church,  and  so  the  two  women,  taking  pos- 
session of  his  phlegmatic  horse  and  superannuated  gig,  started 
early  in  the  afternoon  for  the  appointed  spot.  Before  reaching 
the  gate  to  the  farm-house,  they  overtook  Seth  Wattles  and 
Mr.  Tanner,  on  foot,  the  latter  carrying  his  flute  in  his  hand, 
lie  was  celebrated  throughout  the  neighborhood  for  his  per- 
formance of  '•'•Love  Not"  and  "  The  Pirate 's  Serenade"  on 
that  instrument. 

The  spot  was  reached  by  following  the  highway,  past  the 
foot  of  Roaring  Brook  cataract,  and  then  taking  a  side-road 
which  led  across  the  embaying  curve  of  the  valley  and,  ascen- 
ded to  the  saw-mill  at  the  mouth  of  the  glen.  Some  of  the 
party  had  gone  directly  across  the  fields  from  the  Merryfield 


194  HANKAH  THUBSTON: 


farm-house,  as  there  was  one  point  in  the  rocky  front  of  the 
terrace  where  an  ascent  was  practicable  without  danger.  Thus 
they  nearly  all  met  in  the  grove  at  the  same  time. 

The  day  was  warm  and  still,  oppressively  sultry  in  the  sun- 
shine, but  there,  under  the  trees  and  beside  the  mossy  rocks, 
the  swift  brook  seemed  to  bring  a  fresh  atmosphere  with  it, 
out  of  the  heart  of  the  hills.  A  light  wind,  imperceptible  else- 
where, softly  rustled  among  the  aspen-leaves,  and  sighed  oif 
from  the  outer  -  pine-boughs  into  the  silence  of  the  air.  The 
stream,  swollen  by  late  rains,  yet  cleansed  of  their  stain,  ran 
deep  and  strong,  curving  like  bent  glass  over  the  worn  rocks 
in  itSrbed,  with  a  suppressed  noise,  as  if  hoarding  its  shout  for 
the  leap  from  the  cliff.  The  shade  was  sprinkled  with  patches 
of  intense  golden  light,  where  the  sun  leaked  through,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  place  seemed  to  say,  in  every  feature,  "  I  wait 
for  color  and  life."  Both  were  soon  given.  The  Whitlow 
children,  in  pink  frocks,  scampered  here  and  there  ;  Mrs. 
Waldo's  knot  of  crimson  ribbon  took  its  place,  like  a  fiery  trop- 
ical blossom,  among  the  green  ;  Mrs.  Merryfield  hung  her 
orange-colored  crape  shawl  on  a  bough  ;  and  even  Seth's  un- 
gainly figure  derived  some  consistency  from  a  cravat  of  sky- 
blue  satin,  the  ends  of  which  hung  over  his  breast.  Mr.  Tan- 
ner screwed  together  the  pieces  of  his  flute,  wet  his  lips  several 
times  with  his  tongue,  and  played,  loud  and  shrill,  the  "  Mac- 
gregor's  Gathering." 

"  The  moon's  on  the  lake  and  the  mist's  on  the  brae," 

sang  Hannah  Thurston  to  herself,  as  she  stood  on  the  edge  of 
the  stream,  a  little  distance  from  the  others.  The  smell  of  the 
moss,  and  of  the  woolly  tufts  of  unrolling  ferns,  powerfully  ex- 
cited and  warmed  her  imagination.  She  was  never  heard  to 
say,  in  such  a  spot,  like  many  young  ladies,  "How  romantic  !" 
but  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  darker,  her  pale  cheek 
glowed  without  an  increase  of  color,  and  her  voice  was  thrilled 
with  an  indescribable  mixture  of  firmness  and  sweetness.  This 
was  her  first  true  enjoyment  of  the  summer.  The  anxiety  oc- 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  195 

casioned  by  her  mother's  failing  health,  the  reawakening  of 
dreams  she  had  once  conquered,  the  painful  sense  of  incom- 
pleteness in  her  own  aspirations,  and  the  growing  knowledge 
of  u n worthiness  in  others,  which  revealed  more  clearly  her 
spiritual  isolation,  were  all  forgotten.  She  bathed  her  soul  in 
the  splendor  of  summer,  and  whatever  pain  remained  was  not 
distinguishable  from  that  which  always  dwells  in  the  heart  of 

j°y- 
As  she  reached  the  line : 

"  O'er  the  peak  of  Ben  Lomond  the  galley  shall  steer," 

a  coarse  bass  voice  behind  her  joined  in  the  song.  She  turned 
and  beheld  Seth  Wattles  and  Dyce,  seated  on  a  rock.  They 
had  been  listening,  and  might  have  heard  her  to  the  end,  had 
not  the  former  b^en  too  anxious  to  display  his  accomplish- 
ments. Her  repugnance  to  both  the  men  had  unconsciously 
increased,  and  she  could  no  longer  resist  the  impulse  which 
prompted  her  to  avoid  them.  Mary  Wollstonecraft  was  fortu- 
nately at  hand,  in  the  act  of  chewing  fern-stems,  and  Hannah 
Thurston,  unacquainted  with  the  young  lady's  "  dietetic  in- 
stincts," seized  her  arm  in  some  alarm  and  conducted  her  to 
her  mother. 

"Let  go!"  cried  the  girl;  "mamma  lets  me  eat  what  I 
please." 

"But,  my  dear,"  mildly  expostulated  the  mother,  "these 
are  strange  plants,  and  they  might  not  agree  with  you." 

"  I  don't  care ;  they're  good,"  was  the  amiable  reply. 

"  Would  you  not  rather  have  a  cake  ?"  said  Mrs.  Waldo, 
coming  to  the  rescue.  "  I  have  some  in  my  basket,  and  will 
bring  you  one,  if  you  will  not  put  those  stems  in  your  mouth." 

"  I  was  playing  cow,  but  I'll  stop  if  you'll  bring  me  two." 

Mrs.  Waldo  took  her  way  towards  the  old  gig,  which  was 
left,  with  the  other  vehicles,  at  the  edge  of  the  grove.  As  she 
emerged  from  the  shade,  and  looked  up  towards  the  saw-mill, 
where  the  sawyer,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was  tilting  about  over 
a  pile  of  scantling,  she  saw  a  horseman  coming  down  the  glen 


196  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

road.     Something  in  his  appearance  caused  her  to   stop  and 
scan  him  more  closely.     At  the  same  instant  he  perceived  her, 
turned  his  horse  out  of  the  road,  and  cantered  lightly  up  to 
the  grove. 
""  You  here !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  is  it  a  camp-meeting  ?" 

"  You  there,  Mr.  Woodbury  !  Where  have  you  been  ? 
Are  you  to  monopolize  all  the  secular  enjoyments  ?  No  ;  it  is 
a  pic-nic,  small,  but  select,  though  I  say  it." 

"  Ah !  who  are  here  ?"  he  asked,  leaning  forward  on  his 
horse  and  peering  into  the  shade — "  My  God  !" 

Mrs.  Waldo,  watching  his  countenance  with  merry  eyes,  saw 
a  flush  of  horror,  quick  as  lightning,  pass  over  it.  With  one 
bound  he  was  off  the  horse,  which  sprang  away  startled,  and 
trotted  back  towards  the  road.  The,  next  instant  she  saw  him 
plunge- headlong  into  the  stream. 

Phillis  Wheatley,  in  whom  the  climbing  propensity  was  at 
its  height,  had  caught  sight  of  a  bunch  of  wild  scarlet  cohim- 
bine,  near  the  top  of  a  rock,  around  which  the  stream  turned. 
Scrambling  up  the  sloping  side,  she  reached  down  for  the 
flowers,  which  were  still  inaccessible,  yet  so  near  as  to  be  tan- 
talizing. She  then  lay  down  on  her  face,  and.  stretching  her 
arm,  seized  the  bunch,  at  which  she  jerked  with  all  her  force. 
The  roots,  grappling  fast  in  the  crevices  of  the  rock,  did  not 
give  way  as  she  expected.  On  the  contrary,  the  resistance  of 
the  plant  destroyed  her  own  balance,  and  she  whirled  over 
into  the  water. 

Woodbury  saw  her  dangerous  position  on  the  rock,  at  the 
very  moment  the  catastrophe  occurred.  With  an  instant  intu- 
ition, he  perceived  that  the  nearest  point  of  the  stream  was  a 
bend  a  little  below  ;  a  few  bounds  brought  him  to  the  bank, 
in  time  to  plunge  in  and  catch  the  pink  frock  as  it  was  swept 
down  the  swift  current.  He  had  no  time  to  think  or  calculate 
chances.  The  stream,  although  not  more  than  four  or  five 
feet  deep  and  twenty  in  breadth,  bore  him  along  with  such 
force  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  gain  his  feet.  At  the  last 
turn  where  the  current  sheered  toward  the  opposite  bank,  a 


A   STORY    OF   AMEIUCAN   LIFE.  197 

shrub  hung  over  the  water.  His  eye  caught  it,  and,  half 
springing  up  as  he  dashed  along,  he  seized  it  with  q^e  hand. 
The  momentary  support  enabled  him  to  resist  the  current  suf- 
ficiently to  get  his  feet  on  the  bottom,  but  they  could  gain  nc 
hold  on  the  slippery  rock.  As  he  slipped  and  caught  alter- 
nately, in  a  desperate  struggle,  Phillis,  struggling  blindly  with 
him,  managed  to  get  her  arms  around  his  neck.  Thin  as  they 
were,  they  seemed  to  have  the  muscular  power  of  snakes,  and, 
in  his  hampered  condition,  he  found  it  impossible  to  loosen 
her  hold.  The  branch  of  the  shrub  gave  way,  and  the  resist- 
less current  once  more  bore  them  down. 

Mrs.  Waldo's  fearful  shriek  rang  through  the  grove,  and 
startled  the  light-hearted  company  from  their  discussion  of  the 
evils  of  Society.  Every  one  felt  that  something  dreadful  had 
happened,  and  rushed  towards  the  sound  in  helpless  and  un- 
certain terror.  She  was  already  on  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
her  hair  torn  by  the  branches  through  which  she  had  plunged, 
and  her  face  deadly  pale,  as  she  pointed  to  the  water,  gasping, 
"  Help  !"  One  glance  told  the  whole  story.  Mrs.  Whitlow 
covered  her  face  and  dropped  on  the  ground.  Merryfield 
and  the  father  ran  down  the  bank,  stretching  out  their 
hands  with  a  faint  hope  of  catching  the  two  as  the  current 
brought  them  along.  Hannah  Thurston  looked  around  in  a 
desperate  search  for  some  means  of  help,  and  caught  sight  of  a 
board  which  had  been  placed  across  two  low  rocks,  for  a  seaj^ 
"The  board — quick !"  she  cried,  to  Seth  and  Dyce,  who  stood 
as  if  paralyzed — "  at  the  head  of  the  fall !"  Mechanically,  but 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  they  obeyed  her. 

Woodbury,  after  letting  go  his  hold  of  the  shrub,  turned 
his  face  with  the  stream,  to  spy,  in  advance,  some  new  point 
of  escape.  He  saw,  a  hundred  feet  ahead,  the  sharp  edge  of 
silver  where  the  sun  played  on  the  top  of  the  fall :  the  sudden 
turns  of  the  stream  were  all  behind  him,  and  it  now  curved 
gradually  to  the  right,  slightly  widening  as  it  approached  the 
brink.  His  perceptions,  acting  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning, 
told  him  that  he  must  either  gain  the  left  bank  before  making 


198  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

half  the  remaining  distance,  or  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  cur- 
rent, arti  trust  to  the  chance  of  grasping  a  rock  which  rose  a 
little  above  the  water,  a  few  feet  in  advance  of  the  fall.  He 
was  an  experienced  swimmer,  but  a  few  strokes  convinced 
him  that  the  first  plan  would  not  succeed.  Before  reaching 
the  rock  the  water  grew  deeper,  and  the  current  whirled  in 
strong  eddies,  which  would  give  him  some  little  power  to  di- 
rect his  course.  In  a  second  they  seethed  around  him,  and, 
though  the  bottom  fell  away  from  under  his  feet,  he  felt  a  sud- 
den support  from  the  back  water  from  the  rock.  One  tremen- 
dous effort  and  he  reached  it. 

To  the  agonized  spectators  on  the  bank,  the  scene  was  terri- 
ble. Unable  to  avert  their  eyes  from  the  two  lives  sweeping 
like  a  flash  to  destruction — feeling,  instinctively,  that  there 
was  no  instantaneous  power  of  action  which  could  save — they 
uttered  low,  incoherent  cries,  too  benumbed  to  speak  or  think. 
Only  Seth  and  Dyce,  who  had  conveyed  the  board  to  the  head 
of  the  fall,  were  hurriedly  endeavoring  to  thrust  it  out  over 
the  water.  In  their  excitement  they  had  placed  it  too  low  to 
reach  the  rock. 

a  Bring  it  further  up  !"  shouted  Mr.  Whitlow. 

Seth,  nervously  attempting  to  slide  it  up  the  bank,  allowed 
the  outer  end  to  drop  into  the  current.  It  was  instantly  twist- 
ed out  of  his  hands  and  whirled  over  the  fall. 

Woodbury  had  gained  a  firm  hold  of  the  rock,  but  the 
water  was  up  to  his  shoulders,  the  conflicting  currents  tugged 
him  this  way  and  that,  and  he  was  unable  to  clasp  his  charge 
securely.  Her  arms  were  still  tight  about  his  neck,  but  if  her 
strength  should  give  way,  their  situation  would  become  criti- 
cal. He  saw  the  effort  made  for  their  rescue,  and  its  failure. 

"Another  board  !"  he  shouted. 

Seth  and  Dyce  darted  through  the  grove  in  search  of  one, 
while  Merryfield,  more  practical,  made  off  with  his  utmost 
speed  for  the  saw-mill.  Hannah  Thurston,  in  spite  of  her  re- 
lief at  the  escape,  recognized  the  danger  which  still  impended. 
A  single  glance  showed  her  the  difficulty  under  which  Wood 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  199 

bury  labored,  and  a  sickening  anxiety  again  overcame  her. 
To  stand  still  was  impossible ;  but  what  could  she  do  ?  On  a 
stump  near  her  lay  a  fragment  of  board  about  four  feet  in 
length.  The  distance  from  the  bank  to  the  rock  was  at  least 
twelve.  Another  glance  at  the  rapid  current,  and  an  idea, 
which,  it  seemed  to  her  afterwards,  some  passing  angel  must 
lhave  let  fall,  flashed  through  her  brain.  Snatching  her  silk 
'summer-shawl  from  the  bough  where  it  hung,  she  tied  one  end 
of  it  tightly  around  the  middle  of  the  board,  drawing  it  to  a 
firm  knot  on  the  edge.  Mrs.  Waldo  was  no  less  quick  in  com- 
prehending what  she  intended.  By  the  time  the  knot  was  tied, 
her  own  and  Mrs.  Merryfield's  shawls  were  brought  and  quickly 
fastened,  one  to  another.  By  this  means  a  length  considerably 
greater  than  the  breadth  of  the  stream  was  obtained. 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  breathlessly,  as 
she  took  the  scarf  from  her  neck.  Knotting  one  end  and 
drawing  the  other  through,  so  as  to  form  a  running  noose,  she 
fastened  it  to  her  shawl,  near  the  board.  Her  plan  came  to 
her  in  a  complete  form,  and  hence  there  was  no  delay  in  put- 
ting it  into  execution.  Taking  her  stand  on  a  point  of  the 
bank,  some  feet  above  the  rock  where  Woodbury  clung,  she 
gathered  the  shawls  in  loose  links  and  held  the 'board  ready  to 
throw.  Woodbury,  whose  position  was  such  that  he  could 
see  her  movements  without  risking  his  hold,  now  called  to  her : 

"  As  far  as  you  can  throw  !" 

Mrs.  Waldo  had  followed  to  the  bank,  and  stood  behind 
Hannah  Thurston,  grasping  a  handful  of  her  dress,  lest  she, 
too,  should  lose  her  balance.  But  excitement  gave  Hannah 
firmness  of  nerve,  when  other  women  trembled.  She  flung  the 
board  with  a  steady  hand,  throwing  the  weight  of  the  shawls, 
as  much  as  possible,  with  it.  It  fell  beyond  the  centre  of  the 
current,  whirled  around  once  or  twice  upon  an  eddy,  and  was 
sheering  back  towards  the  bank  again,  when  Woodbury, 
whispering  to  Phillis,  "  Hold  fast,  darling !"  put  out  one  hand 
and  caught  it.  With  some  difficulty,  and  with  more  risk  to 
himself  than  the  two  anxious  women  on  the  bank  were  aware 


200  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

of,  he  drevr  the  wet,  sticky  slip- noose  of  the  scarf  over  Phillis's 
head  and  one  arm,  bringing  it  under  her  elbow  before  he  could 
loosen  her  hold  upon  his  neck.  Thrusting  the  board  under  this 
arm,  it  was  an  easier  task  to  disengage  the  other. 

"  Wind  the  end  of  the  shawl  around  that  sapling  beside 
you !"  he  called  to  Hannah  Thurston.  "  One  of  you  go  below 
to  meet  her." 

Mrs.  Waldo  was  on  the  spot  before  his  words  were  finished. 

"  Now,  hold  fast,  my  little  girl,  and  you  will  be  safe  in  a 
minute.  Ready  !"  he  cried. 

Phillis  obeyed,  rather  through  blind  trust  in  him,  than  from 
her  consciousness  of  what  was  going  on.  The  poor  creature 
was  chilled  and  exhausted,  half  strangled  by  the  water  she  had 
swallowed,  and  wild  with  terror.  Her  arms  having  once  been 
loosened,  she  clasped  them  again  around  the  board  in  a  last 
convulsive  effort  of  strength.  Woodbury  let  go  the  frail  raft, 
which,  impelled  by  the  dragging  weight  of  the  shawls,  darted 
at  once  half-way  across  the  stream.  Then  it  began  to  move 
more  slowly,  and  the  force  of  the  current  seemed  to  ingulf  it. 
For  a  moment  the  water  rushed  over  the  child's  head,  but  her 
dress  was  already  within  reach  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  hand,  and  she 
was  drawn  upon  the  bank,  gasping  and  nearly  insensible.  Mrs. 
Merryfield  picked  her  up  and  carried  her  to  the  mother,  who 
still  lay  upon  the  ground,  with  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Woodbury,  relieved  of  his  burden,  now  held  his  position 
with  less  difficulty.  The  coldness  of  the  water,  not  yet  tem- 
pered by  the  few  days  of  summer,  nevertheless,  began  to  be 
numb  him,  and  he  was  obliged  to  struggle  against  a  growing 
exhaustion.  Hannah  Thurston,  as  soon  as  the  child  was 
rescued,  drew  in  the  board,  examined  the  knots  of  the  shawls, 
and  gathered  them  together  for  another  throw ;  but  at  the 
same  instant  Mr.  Merryfield,  out  of  breath  and  unable  to  speak, 
appeared  with  a  plank  on  his  shoulder.  With  the  aid  of  the 
others,  the  end  was  secured  between  two  trees,  and  it  was 
then  run  out  above  the  water,  a  little  below  the  rock,  where 
the  stream  was  shallower.  Woodbury  cautiously  slid  down. 


A    STOKY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  201 

gained  a  firm  foothold,  and  slowly  crossed,  walking  sidewise, 
supported  by  the  plank.  As  he  neared  the  bank,  he  stretched 
out  his  left  hand,  which  was  grasped  by  Merryfield,  who  drew 
so  tremendously  that  he  almost  lost  his  footing  at  the  last 
moment.  As  he  felt  the  dry  earth  under  him,  a  singular 
numbness  fell  upon  him.  He  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  Mrs.  Waldo 
and  Hannah  Thurston ;  the  former  streaming  with  grateful 
tears,  the  latter  pale  and  glad,  with  a  moist  light  in  her  eyes. 
He  sat  down  upon  the  nearest  rock,  chilled  to  the  bone  ;  his 
lips  were  blue  and  his  teeth  chattered. 

"  It  is  cold  bathing,"  said  he :  "  have  you  any  wine  ?" 

"  We  do  not  use  intoxicating  beverages,"  said  Mr.  Whitlow, 
who  could  not  forget,  even  in  his  gratitude  for  his  daughter's 
rescue,  the  necessity  of  bearing  testimony  against  popular  vices. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  however,  hastily  left  the  company.  Mr. 
Merryfield  took  off  his  coat,  and  having  removed  Woodbury' s 
with  some  little  trouble,  substituted  it.  The  dry  warmth  be- 
gan to  revive  him.  "  Where  is  my  new  acquaintance  ?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Whitlow,  after  an  hysterical  outburst  of  alternate 
laughter  and  tears,  had  wrapped  Phillis  Wheatley  in  the 
only  remaining  dry  shawl  and  given  her  a  saucer  of  mar- 
malade; but  the  child  was  still  too  much  frightened  to  eat. 
Her  father  brought  her  in  his  arms  and  set  her  down  before 
Woodbury.  "  There,  Phillis,"  said  he,  and  his  voice  trembled 
a  little,  "  you  must  thank  the  gentleman  for  saving  your  life." 

"  Thank  you  for  saving  my  life !"  said  Phillis,  in  a  rueful 
voice. 

"  Not  me,"  said  Woodbury,  rising  slowly  and  wearily,  and 
turning  towards  Hannah,  "  but  Miss  Thurston.  Your  cool- 
ness and  presence  of  mind  saved  both  of  us." 

He  took  her  hand.  His  fingers  were  as  cold  as  ice,  yet  a 
warmth  she  never  before  felt  streamed  from  them  through  her 
whole  frame. 

Mrs.  Waldo  suddenly  made  her  appearance,  as  breathless  as 
before  Mr.  Merryfield  had  been,  with  the  plank  on  his  shoulder. 
She  carried  in  her  hand  a  tumbler  full  of  a  yellowish  liquid. 
9* 


202  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


"  There,"  she  panted,  "  drink  it.  Thankful  am  I  that  there 
are  still  sinners  in  the  world.  The  sawyer  had  a  black  jug. 
It's  poisonous  stuff,  I  know  —  leads  to  the  gates  of  death,  and 
all  that  —  but  I  thanked  God  when  I  saw  it." 

"  Good  Samaritan  !"  exclaimed  Woodbury  fervently,  as  he 
drank.  It  was,  in  truth,  the  vilest  form  of  whiskey,  but  it 
steadied  his  teeth  and  thawed  his  frozen  blood. 

"  Now  for  my  horse  and  a  gallop  home  !"  he  said. 

"  Where  is  the  horse  ?"  they  asked. 

"  I'll  get  him,"  exclaimed  Seth,  with  alacrity. 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  up  to  Jones's,  as  it  were,"  said 
Merryfield  "  He's  stopped  the  saw-mill,  and  run  to  the  house 
to  get  a  fire  kindled.  You  can  dry  yourself  first,  and  Sarah 
can  make  you  some  tea  or  coffee." 

Jones  made  his  appearance  at  almost  the  same  instant. 
"  I  ketched  y'r  horse,  Mr.  Maxwood,"  said  he,  running  the 
names  together  in  his  excitement.  "  He's  all  light.  Come  up 
t'  th'  house  :  Mary  Jane's  made  a  rousin'  fire,  and  you  kin 
dry  y'rself." 

"  Thank  you,  my  friends,"  Woodbury  answered.  "  Your 
whiskey  has  done  me  great  service,  Mr.  Jones,  and  what  I  now 
want  more  than  any  thing  else  is  a  little  lively  motion.  Will 
you  please  lend  Mr.  Merryfield  one  of  your  coats,  since  he  has 
kindly  given  me  his  ?  I  shall  ride  over  and  see  you  to- 
morrow ;  but  now  let  me  get  to  my  horse  as  soon  as  possible." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  sawyer's  shoulder,  to  steady  him- 
self, for  his  steps  were  still  tottering,  and  was  turning  away, 
when  he  perceived  his  wet  coat,  spread  out  on  a  rock.  Pick- 
ing it  up,  he  took  a  note-book  and  some  pulpy  letters  from  the 
breast-pocket.  After  examining  the  latter,  he  crushed  them 
in  his  hand,  and  tossed  them  into  the  stream.  He  then  felt 
the  deep  side-pockets  :  in  one  there  was  a  wet  handkerchief, 
but  on  reaching  the  other  he  dropped  the  coat. 

"  There,  Mr,  Dyce,"  said  he,  "  you  will  find  your  pamphlet. 
I  had  it  in  my  pocket,  intending  to  leave  it  with  Mr.  Merry- 
field  this  afternoon.  It  is  pretty  thoroughly  soaked  by  this 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  203 

time,  but  all  the  waters  of  Roaring  Brook  could  not  wash  it 
clean." 

Nodding  a  cheerful  good-by  to  Mrs.  Waldo,  a  respectful 
one  to  Hannah  Thurston,  and  giving  Phillis  a  kiss  which  left 
her  staring  at  him  in  open-mouthed  astonishment,  he  left  the 
company.  The  sawyer,  with  a  rough  tenderness,  insisted  on 
keeping  his  arm  around  Woodbury's  waist,  and  on  reaching 
the  mill  produced  the  black  jug,  from  which  it  was  impossible 
to  escape  without  a  mild  libation.  Woodbury  repaid  it  the 
next  day  with  a  bottle  of  smoky  "  Islay,"  the  remembrance  of 
which  made  Jones's  mouth  water  for  years  afterwards. 

The  pic-nic,  of  course,  was  at  an  end.  Without  unpacking 
the  refreshments,  the  party  made  immediate  preparations  to 
return.  The  fire  Mrs.  Jones  had  kindled  was  employed  to  dry 
Phillis  and  the  shawls,  while  the  gentlemen  harnessed  the 
horses.  Mr.  Merryfield  went  about  in  the  sawyer's  Sunday 
coat,  which  had  been  first  made  for  his  wedding,  sixteen  years 
before.  It  was  blue$  with  brass  buttons,  a  high  rolling  collar, 
very  short  waist,  and  tails  of  extraordinary  length.  No  one 
laughed,  however,  except  Mary  Wollstonecraft. 

In  spite  of  the  accident,  which  left  an  awed  and  subdued 
impression  upon  all  minds,  the  ride  home  was  very  animated. 
Each  was  anxious  to  describe  his  or  her  feelings,  but  Mrs. 
Whitlow  was  tacitly  allowed  to  play  the  chief  part. 

"  You  were  all  running  here  and  there,"  said  she,  u  and  the 
movement  was  some  relief.  What  I  suffered,  no  tongue  can 
describe.  But  I  am  reconciled  to  it  now.  I  see  in  it  a 
mysterious  sign  that  Phillis  Wheatley  is  to  have  an  im- 
portant mission  in  the  world,  and  my  duty  is  to  prepare  her 
for  it." 

Fortunately,  no  injury  resulted  to  the  girl  thus  mysteriously 
commissioned,  from  the  manner  in  which  it  was  done.  She 
was  obliged,  very  much  against  her  will,  to  lie  down  for  the 
rest  of  the  day ;  but  the  next  morning  she  was  discovered  in 
the  stable,  pulling  the  tail-feathers  out  of  an  old  cock  she  had 
caught. 


204  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

On  Monday,  the  Wintlows  took  their  departure  for  Niagara, 
greatly  to  the  relief  of  their  hosts.  As  they  do  not  appear 
again  in  the  course  of  this  history,  we  may  hope  that  the  re- 
mainder of  their  journey  was  agreeable. 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  205 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

<0 

CONCERNING   AN   UNEXPECTED   JOURNEY   TO   TIBERIUS. 

Two  days  after  the  departure  of  the  Whitlows,  Mr.  Dyce, 
during  breakfast,  announced  his  intention  of  leaving  Ptolemy. 
"I  have  promised  to  visit  the  Community,"  said  he,  "  and  it  is 
now  a  pleasant  time  to  be  there.  Could  you  lend  me  your 
horse  and  carriage  as  far  as  Tiberius,  Merryfield  ?" 

"  Not  to-day,  I  guess,"  said  the  farmer ;  "  I  must  go  to 
Mulligan sville  this  afternoon,  to  see  about  buying  another  cow, 
and  Henry  has  the  hill-field  to  hoe.  You  could  take  Jinny  and 
the  carriage,  but  how  would  I  get  them  back  again?" 

"  I  will  go,"  said  his  wife,  with  an  unusual  eagerness.  "  I 
must  go  there  soon,  any  way.  I've  things  to  buy,  you  know, 
James,  and  there's  Mrs.  Kevins  that  I've  been  owing  a  visit 
to,  this  ever  so  long." 

"Well,  if  you  want  to,  Sarah,"  he  answered,  "I've  nothing 
against  it.  Are  you  sure  it  won't  be  too  much  for  you  ?  You 
know  you've  been  having  extra  work,  and  you're  not  strong." 

Mrs.  Merryfield  drew  up  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and  gave 
a  spasmodic  sob.  "  Yes,  I  know  I  am  the  weaker  vessel,"  she 
wailed,  "  and  my  own  judgment  don't  pass  for  any  thing." 

"Sarah,  Sarah,  don't  be  foolish!"  said- her  husband;  "  you 
know  I  never  interfere  unreasonably  with  your  ways.  You 
can  do  as  you  please.  I  spoke  for  your  own  good,  and  you 
needn't  cry  about  it." 

He  rose  with  an  impatient  air,  and  left  the  table.  He  could 
not  but  admit  to  himself,  sometimes,  that  the  happiness  of  his 
married  life  had  not  increased  in  proportion  to  his  progress  in 


206  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

the  knowledge  of  Reform.  When  he  looked  back  and  recalled 
the  lively,  rosy  young  woman,  with  her  first  nuptial  bashful- 
ness  and  air  of  dependence  on  her  husband  fresh  about  her, 
whom  he  had  brought  to  the  farm-house  twenty-five  years 
before,  when  they  lived  in  utter  ignorance  of  dietetic  laws  and 
solemn  duties  towards  the  Human  Race,  he  could  not  repress 
a  feeling  of  pain.  The  sallow,  fretful  woman,  who  now  con- 
sidered her  years  of  confiding  love  as  a  period  of  servitude, 
which  she  strove  to  balance  by  claiming  more  than  an  equal 
share  in  the  direction  of  the  household,  was  another  (and  less 
agreeable)  creature,  in  comparison  with  her  former  self.  Of 
late,  she  had  grown  more  than  usually  irritable  and  unsatisfied, 
and,  although  he  had  kindly  ascribed  the  fact  to  housekeeping 
perplexities,  his  patience  was  sorely  tried.  There  was  no 
remedy  but  endurance,  so  far  as  he  could  see.  It  was  impos- 
sible, now,  to  change  his  convictions  in  regard  to  woman's 
rights,  and  he  was  too  sincere  to  allow  the  practice  of  his  life 
to  be  inconsistent  with  them. 

When  he  returned  at  noon  from  a  distant  field,  where  he  had 
been  engaged  all  the  morning,  he  was  surprised  to  find  the 
carriage  still  at  home,  although  his  man  Henry  was  engaged 
in  greasing  the  hubs  of  the  wheels.  "  Why,  Sarah,"  said  he, 
as  he  sat  down  to  dinner,  "I  thought  you  would  have  been 
off." 

"  I  couldn't  get  ready,"  she  answered,  rather  sullenly.  "  But 
I  need  not  come  back  to-night.  It  will  be  better  for  Jinny, 
anyhow." 

Mr.  Dyce  was  unusually  talkative  on  the  subject  of  the  Com- 
munity, the  charms  of  which  he  painted  in  the  liveliest  colors. 
His  host  was  tired  of  the  subject,  but  listened  with  an  air  of 
tolerance,  as  he  was  so  soon  to  get  rid  of  the  speaker. 

Bidding  the  latter  good-by,  immediately  after  dinner,  he 
saddled  his  horse  and  rode  to  Mulligansville.  The  new  cow 
met  his  requirements,  and  a  bargain  was  soon  concluded.  She 
was  to  be  brought  to  the  farm  next  day,  when  th.e  price  agreed 
upon  would  be  paid.  Mr.  Merryfield  had  adopted  the  sensible 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  207 

rule  of  defraying  all  such  expenses  as  they  arose.  Hence  his 
crops  were  never  mortgaged  in  advance,  and  by  waiting  until 
they  could  be  sold  to  the  best  advantage,  he  prospered  from 
year  to  year. 

When  he  reached  home  again,  it  was  nearly  four  o'clock. 
Putting  up  his  horse,  he  entered  the  house  and  went  directly 
to  the  old-fashioned  mixture  of  book-case,  writing-desk,  and 
chest  of  drawers,  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  sitting-room. 
He  must  make  a  note  of  the  purchase,  and,  since  he  was  alone, 
might  as  well  spend  an  hour,  he  thought,  in  looking  over  his 
papers  and  making  his  calculations  for  the  summer. 

He  was  very  methodical  in  his  business  arrangements,  and 
the  desk  was  in  such  perfect  order  that  he  always  knew  the 
exact  place  of  each  particular  paper.  This  was  one  of  the 
points  of  controversy  with  his  wife,  which  he  never  yielded : 
he  insisted  that  she  should  not  open  the  desk  in  his  absence. 
This  time,  however,  as  he  seated  himself,  drew  out  the  sup- 
ports for  the  lid,  and  let  it  down  upon  them,  his  exact  eye 
showed  him  that  something  had  been  disturbed.  The  papers 
in  one  of  the  pigeon-holes  projected  a  little  further  than  usual, 
and  the  corners  were  not  square  as  they  should  be.  Besides, 
the  pile  appeared  to  be  diminished  in  height.  He  knew  every 
paper  the  pigeon-hole  contained,  took  them  out  and  ran  rapid- 
ly through  them.  One  was  missing  ! — an  envelope,  containing 
bonds  of  the  New  York  Central  Railroad,  to  the  amount  of 
three  thousand  dollars,  the  private  property  of  his  wife.  It 
was  the  investment  of  a  sum  which  she  had  inherited  at  her 
father's  death,  made  in  her  own  name,  and  the  interest  of 
which  she  had  always  received  for  her  separate  use. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  thunderstruck  at  the  discovery. 
Could  one  of  the  servants  have  taken  the  envelope  ?  Impossi- 
ble. Dyce  ? — how  should  he  know  where  to  find  it  ?  Evi- 
dently, nothing  else  had  been  touched.  Had  his  wife,  perhaps, 
taken  it  with  her,  to  dravy  the  semi-annual  interest  at  Tiberius? 
It  was  not  yet  due.  Mechanically,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he 
suspected  or  feared,  he  arose  and  went  up-stairs.  In  the  bed- 


208  HANNAH    THUESTON  '. 

room  which  Dyce  had  last  occupied,  every  thing  was  in  order. 
He  passed  into  his  own,  opening  closets  and  wardrobes,  ex- 
pecting either  to  find  or  miss  something  which  might  enlight- 
en him.  In  his  wife's  wardrobe  three  pegs,  upon  which  dresses 
had  hung,  were  empty.  He  jerked  open,  in  haste,  the  draw- 
ers of  her  bureau :  many  things  had  apparently  been  removed. 
Closing  them  again,  he  raised  his  head,  and  a  little  note,  stick- 
ing among  the  bristles  of  the  hair-brush,  which  lay  on  its  back 
in  front  of  the  looking-glass,  caught  his  eye.  He  seized  it,  un- 
folded it  with  shaking  hands,  put  on  his  spectacles  and  read. 
There  were  but  two  lines  : 

"Send  to -Tiberius  for  the  carriage.  lam  going  to  the 
Community." 

It  was  a  hard  blow  for  the  poor  man.  The  idea  of  conjugal 
infidelity  on  the  part  of  his  wife  was  simply  incredible,  and  no 
suspicion  of  that  nature  entered  his  mind.  It  was  a  deliberate 
case  of  desertion,  and  the  abstraction  of  the  bonds  indicated 
that  it  was  meant  to  be  final.  What  her  motives  were,  he 
could  only  guess  at  in  a  confused  way ;  but  he  knew  that  she 
would  never,  of  her  own  accord,  have  determined  upon  a  course 
so  mad  and  ruinous.  Many  things  were  suddenly  clear  to  him. 
The  evil  influence  of  Dyce,  strengthened  by  his  assumed  pow- 
er, as  a  medium,  of  bringing  her  children  near  to  her ;  the  mag- 
netic strength,  morbid  though  it  was,  of  the  man's  words  and 
presence ;  the  daily  opportunities  of  establishing  some  intan- 
gible authority  over  the  wife,  during  her  husband's  absence, 
until  she  became,  finally,  the  ignorant  slave  of  his  will — all  tLis, 
or  the  possibility  of  it,  presented  itself  to  Merryfield's  mind  in 
a  rush  of  dim  and  tangled  impressions.  He  had  neither  the 
time  nor  the  power  to  unravel  them,  but  he  felt  that  there  was 
truth  at  the  core.  Following  this  conviction  came  the  deter- 
mination to  save  her — yes !  save  her  at  once.  There  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  Tiberius  was  eighteen  miles  distant,  and  they 
could  not  yet  have  arrived  there.  He  must  follow  instantly, 
and  overtake  them,  if  possible,  before  the  departure  of  the  train 
from  the  west. 


A   STOBY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  209 

Why  was  he  delaying  there  ?  The  ten  minutes  that  he  had 
been  standing,  motionless,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  the 
note  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  mechanically  reading  the  two  lines 
over  and  over,  until  the  first  terrible  chaos  of  his  feelings  sub- 
sided, had  lengthened  themselves  into  hours.  Breaking  the 
spell  at  last,  he  drew  a  long  breath,  which  resolved  itself  into 
a  groan,  and  lifted  his  head.  The  little  looking-glass  on  the 
bureau  was  before  him:  moving  a  step  nearer,  he  examined  hi 
own  face  with  a  pitiful  curiosity.  It  looked  old  and  haggard ; 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  rigidly  drawn  and  tightened,  and 
the  pinched  nostrils  twitched  in  spite  of  himself,  but  his  eyes 
were  hard  and  dry. 

"  It  don't  make  much  difference  in  my  looks,  after  all,"  he 
said  to  himself,  with  a  melancholy  laugh  ;  and  the  next  instant 
the  eyes  overflowed. 

After  this  brief  outbreak,  he  recovered  some  strength  and 
steadiness,  and  rapidly  arranged  in  his  mind  what  was  first  to 
be  done.  Taking  oif  his  work-day  clothes,  he  put  on  a  better 
suit,  and  descended  the  stairs.  Calling  to  the  servant-girl  in 
the  kitchen,  he  informed  her,  in  a  voice  which  he  strove  to 
make  natural  and  unconcerned,  that  he  was  suddenly  obliged 
to  visit  Tiberius  on  business,  but  would  return  the  next  day, 
with  his  wife.  He  left  directions  with  her  for  Henry,  the 
field-hand,  regarding  the  morrow's  work,  then  resaddled  his 
horse  and  rode  rapidly  to  Ptolemy. 

On  the  way,  his  thoughts  involuntarily  went  in  advance,  and 
he  endeavored  to  prefigure  the  meeting  with  his  wife.  It  was 
impossible  for  him,  however,  to  decide  what  course  he  should 
pursue  in  case  she  should  persist  in  her  determination.  It  was 
not  enough  to  overtake  her ;  he  must  be  armed  at  all  points 
to  subdue  and  reclaim  her.  She  had  a  stubborn  power  of  re- 
sistance with  which  he  was  well  acquainted ;  and,  moreover, 
Dyce  would  be  ready  enough  to  assist  her.  He  foreboded  his 
own  helplessness  in  such  a  case,  though  the  right  was  on  his 
side  and  the  flagrant  wrong  on  hers. 

"It's   my  own  fault,"  he   groaned,  bitterly;  "I've   given 


210  HANNAH   THURSTOJT  : 

way  to  her  so  long  that  I've  lost  my  rightful  influence  over 
her." 

One  means  of  help  suggested  itself  to  his  mind,  and  was 
immediately  accepted.  Leaving  his  horse  at  the  livery  stable, 
and  ordering  a  fast,  fresh  animal  and  a  light  buggy  to  be  sent 
to  the  Cimmerian  Parsonage,  he  proceeded  thither  on  foot. 

Mr.  Waldo  was  in  his  "  study,"  which  was  one  corner  of 
his  wife's  sitting-room.  He  was  engaged  in  an  epistolary  con- 
troversy with  a  clergyman  of  the  Free-will  Baptists,  occasion- 
ally reading  aloud  a  paragraph  as  he  wrote.  His  wife,  busily 
at  work  in  remaking  an  old  dress,  listened  and  commended. 
They  were  both  startled  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Merryfield, 
whose  agitation  was  apparent  in  his  face,  and  still  more  so  in 
his  voice,  us  he  greeted  them. 

"  What  has  happened  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  I  dcn't  hardly  know,  as  yet,"  he  stammered.  "  I  want 
your  help,  Mr.  Waldo.  Come  with  me — I'm  going  to  Tiberius. 

My  wife" Here  he  paused,  blushing  with  utter  shame 

for  her. 

"  Would  you  rather  speak  to  my  husband  alone  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Waldo,  rising  from  her  seat. 

"  Xo,  you  must  hear  the  rest,  now,"  he  answered.  "  You're 
a  good  woman,  Mrs.  Waldo — good  and  true,  and  perhaps  you, 
too,  can  help.  Sarah  wants  to  leave  me,  and  I  must  bring  her 
back — I  must,  this  night." 

He  then  told  them,  briefly  and  brokenly,  his  painful  story. 
Amazement  and  pity  filled  the  hearts  of  the  two  good  people, 
who  felt  his  misfortune  almost  as  keenly  as  if  it  were  their 
own.  Mrs.  Waldo  commenced  making  the  few  preparations 
necessary  for  her  husband's  departure,  even  before  his  consent 
was  uttered.  When  the  team  was  announced  as  ready,  she 
took  Mr.  Merryfield's  hand  and  bade  him  God-speed,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  The  poor  man  was  too  much  moved  to  reply. 
Then,  catching  her  husband's  arm,  as  he  was  issuing  from  the 
room,  she  whispered  earnestly,  "No  harshness — I  know  her: 
she  must  be  coaxed  and  persuaded." 


A    STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  211 

"  I  wish  it  were  you  who  were  going,  my  good  wife,"  said 
Mr.  Waldo,  kissing  her  ;  '•'•you  would  make  no  mistake.  But 
be  sure  that  I  will  act  tenderly  and  carefully." 

They  drove  away.  She  watched  them  turn  the  next  corner, 
and  went  into  the  house  powerfully  excited  by  such  a  sudden 
and  singular  catastrophe.  Her  quick,  intuitive  mind,  and  her 
knowledge  of  Mrs.  Merryfield's  weak  points,  enabled  her  to 
comprehend  the  action  more  correctly  than  the  husband  him- 
self. This  very  knowledge  was  the  source  of  her  greatest 
anxiety ;  for  she  saw  that  the  success  of  the  journey  hung  by 
a  hair.  Having  already  committed  herself,  Mrs.  Merryfield, 
she  foresaw,  would  not  give  up  her  plan  from  the  discovery 
of  it,  merely.  She  was  not  the  woman  to  fall  at  her  husband's 
feet,  repentant,  at  the  first  sight  of  him,  and  meekly  return  to 
her  forsaken  home.  The  utmost  tact  would  be  required — tact 
of  a  kind,  of  which,  with  all  her  respect  for  the  sex,  she  felt 
that  a  man  was  not  capable. 

The  more  she  pondered  on  the  matter,  the  more  restless 
and  anxious  she  grew.  Her  husband's  last  words  remained 
in  her  ears :  "  You  would  make  no  mistake."  That  was  not 
certain,  but  she  would  make  none,  she  knew,  which  could  not 
at  once  be  rectified.  An  inner  voice  continually  said  to  her, 
"  Go  !"  Her  unrest  became  at  last  insupportable ;  she  went 
to  the  stable,  and  harnessed  their  horse  to  the  old  gig  with  her 
own  hands.  Then  taking  her  shawl,  and  thrusting  some  re- 
freshments into  a  basket — for  she  would  not  delay  even  long 
enough  to  make  a  cup  of  tea — she  clambered  into  the  creaking 
vehicle,  and  drove  off. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  however,  like  many  good  women  whose  moral 
courage  is  equal  to  any  emergency,  was  in  some  respects  a 
ridiculous  coward.  Even  in  company  with  her  husband,  she 
never  passed  along  the  country  roads,  at  night,  without  an  in- 
cessant sensation  of  fear,  which  had  no  positive  shape,  and 
therefore  could  not  be  battled  against.  It  was  now  six  o'clock, 
and  the  darkness  would  be  upon  her  long  before  she  could 
reach  Tiberius.  The  thought  of  making  the  journey  alone, 


212  HANNAH  THUKSTON  : 

was  dreadful ;  if  the  suspended  fate  of  the  Merryfields  was  to 
be  decided  by  her  alone,  she  would  have  been  almost  ready 
to  hesitate.  There  was  but  one  person  in  Ptolemy  to  whom 
she  dared  tell  the  story,  and  who  was  equally  authorized  with 
herself,  to  go — that  person  was  Hannah  Tlmrston. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind,  and  her  reso- 
lution was  taken,  while  she  was  harnessing  the  horse.  She 
drove  at  once  to  the  Widow  Thurston's  cottage,  and  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  find  her  and  her  daughter  at  their  early  tea. 
Summoning  them  into  the  next  room,  out  of  ear-shot  of  the 
little. servant,  she  communicated  the  story  and  her  request  in 
the  fewest  possible  words.  She  left  them  no  time  to  recover 
from  the  news.  "  Don't  stop  to  consider,  Hannah,"  she  said, 
"  we  can  talk  on  the  way.  There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

Miss  Thurston  hesitated,  overcome  by  a  painful  perplexity. 
The  matter  had  been  confided  to  her,  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  principal  actors,  and  she  was  not  sure  that  her  unex- 
pected appearance  before  them  would  lead  to  good.  Besides, 
Mrs.  Merryfield's  act  was  utterly  abhorrent  to  all  her  womanly 
instincts,  and  her  virgin  nature  shrank  from  an  approach  to  it, 
even  in  the  way  of  help.  She  stood  irresolute. 

The  widow  saw  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  "  I  know 
how  thee  feels,  Hannah,"  said  she,  "  and  I  would  not  advise 
thee,  if  thy  way  were  not  clear  to  my  mind.  I  feel  that  it  is 
right  for  thee  to  go.  The  Saviour  took  the  hand  of  the  fallen 
woman,  and  thee  may  surely  take  Sarah's  hand  to  save  her, 
maybe,  from  falling.  Now,  when  thy  gift  may  be  of  service 
— now  is  the  time  to  use  it  freely.  Something  tells  me  that 
thy  help  will  not  be  altogether  in  vain." 

"  I  will  go,  mother,"  the  daughter  replied.  "  Thy  judg- 
ment is  safer  than  mine." 

In  five  minutes  more  the  two  women  were  on  their  way. 
The  loveliest  evening  sunshine  streamed  across  the  valley, 
brightening  the  meadows  and  meadow-trees,  and  the  long, 
curving  sweep  of  the  eastern  hill.  The  vernal  grass,  which,  in 
its  flowering  season,  has  a  sweeter  breath  than  the  roses  of  Gu- 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  213 

listan,  was  cut  in  many  places,  and  lay  in  balmy  windrows.  The 
air  was  still  and  warm,  and  dragon-flies,  .emitting  blue  and 
emerald  gleams  from  their  long  wings,  hovered  in  zigzag  lines 
along  the  brooksides. .  Now  and  then  a  thrush  fluted  from 
the  alder-thickets,  or  an  oriole  flashed  like  a  lighted  brand 
through  the  shadows  of  the  elms.  The  broad  valley  basked 
in  the  lazy  enjoyment  of  its  opulent  summer  hues ;  and  what- 
ever sounds  arose  from  its  bosom,  they  all  possessed  a  tone  of 
passive  content  or  active  joy.  But  the  travellers  felt  nothing 
of  all  this  beauty :  that  repose  of  the  spiritual  nature,  in  which 
the  features  of  the  external  world  are  truly  recognized,  had 
been  rudely  disturbed. 

They  passed  the  Merryfield  farm-house.  How  sadly  at  vari- 
ance with  its  sunny  air  of  peace  was  the  tragic  secret  of  its 
owners,  which  the  two  women  carried  with  them !  The  huge 
weeping  willow  trailed  its  hanging  masses  of  twigs  against  the 
gable,  and  here  and  there  a  rose-tree  thrust  its  arm  through 
the  white  garden  paling  and  waved  a  bunch  of  crimson,  as  if 
to  say  :  "  Come  in  and  see  how  we  are  blooming  !"  Towards 
the  barn,  the  field-hand  was  letting  down  bars  for  the  waiting 
cows,  and  the  servant-girl  issued  from  the  kitchen-door  with 
her  tin  milk-kettle,  as  they  gazed.  What  a  mockery  it  all 
seemed ! 

A  little  further,  and  the  cataract  thundered  on  their  right. 
All  below  the  rocky  wall  lay  in  shadow,  but  the  trees  on  its 
crest  were  still  touched  by  the  sun,  and  thin  wreaths  of  spray, 
whirling  upward,  were  suddenly  converted  into  dust  of  gold. 
Hannah  Thurston  looked  up  at  the  silent  grove,  and  shuddered 
as  she  recalled  the  picture  she  had  last  seen  there.  The  brook 
could  never  again  wear  to  her  its  former  aspect  of  wayward, 
impetuous  jubilation.  Under  its  green  crystal  and  glassy 
slides  lurked  an  element  of  terror,  of  pitiless  cruelty.  Yet 
even  the  minutes  of  agonizing  suspense  she  had  there  endured 
were  already  softened  in  her  memory,  and  seemed  less  terrible 
than  the  similar  trial  which  awaited  her. 

Near  the  entrance  to  Lakeside  they  met  Bute  Wilson,  with 


214  HANNAH  THTJJRSTON: 

a  yoke  of  oxen.     He  recognized  the  old  gig,  and  with  a  loud 
"  Haw,  Buck, — come  hither !"  drew  his  team  off  the  road." 
.    "  Takin'   a  drive,  are  ye  ?     How  d'you  do,  Mrs.  Waldo — 
Miss  Hannah  ?" 

"  Good-evening,  Bute  !"  said  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  How  is  Mr. 
Woodbury  ?  I  hope  he  has  not  suffered  from  being  so  long- 
in  the  water." 

"Bless  you,  no  !  Mr.  Max.  is  as  sound  as  a  roach.  He  rid 
over  to  Tiberius  this  afternoon.  I  say,  wasn't  it  lucky  that 
jist. he  should  ha'  come  along  at  the  right  time  ?"  Bute's  face 
glowed  with  pride  and  delight. 

"  It  was  Providential :  good-by !" 

Slowly  climbing  the  long  ravine,  through  dark  woods,  it 
was  after  sunset  when  they  reached  the  level  of  the  upland. 
The  village  of  Anacreon  soon  came  in  sight,  and  they  drove 
rapidly  through,  not  wishing  to  be  recognized.  Beyond  this 
point  the  road  was  broad,  straight,  and  firm,  and  they  could 
make  better  progress.  A  low  arch  of  orange  light  lingered 
in  the  west,  but  overhead  the  larger  stars  came  out,  one  after 
another.  Belts  of  warm  air  enveloped  them  on  the  heights, 
but  the  dusky  hollows  were  steeped  in  grateful  coolness,  and 
every  tree  by  the  roadside  gave  out  its  own  peculiar  odor. 
The  ripe,  antique  breath  of  the  oak,  the  honeyed  bitter  of  the 
tulip-tree,  and  the  perfect  balsam  of  the  hickory,  were  breathed 
upon  them  in  turn.  A  few  insects  still  chirped  among  the 
clover,  and  the  unmated  frogs  serenaded,  by  fits,  their  reluctant 
sweethearts.  At  one  of  the  farm-houses  they  passed,  a  girl, 
seated  in  the  porch,  was  singing : 

"  "We  have  lived  and  loved  together, 
Through  many  changing  years." 

Every  circumstance  seemed  to  conspire,  by  involuntary  con- 
trast, to  force  the  difficult  and  painful  task  they  had  under- 
taken more  distinctly  upon  their  minds.  After  Mrs.  Waldo 
had  imparted  all  she  knew,  with  her  own  conjectures  of  the 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN  LIFE.  215 

causes  of  the  desertion,  both  women  were  silent  for  a  long 
time,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  it  was  impossible  to  arrange,  in 
advance,  any  plan  of  action.  They  must  trust  to  the  sugges- 
tions which  the  coming  interview  would  supply. 

"  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  at  last. 
"  After  so  many  years  of  married  life — after  having  children 
born  to  them,  and  lost,  uniting  them  by  the  more  sacred  bond 
of  sorrow — how  is  it  possible?  TJiey  certainly  loved  each 
other  :  what  has  become  of  her  love  ?" 

"  She  has  it  somewhere,  yet,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Waldo.  "  She  is  weak  and  foolish,  but  she  does  not  mean  to 
be  criminal.  Dyce  is  a  dangerous  man,  and  he  has  led  her  to 
the  step.  No  other  man  she  knows  could  have  done  it." 

"  Can  she  love  him  ?" 

"Probably  not.  But  a  strong,  unscrupulous  man  who 
knows  our  sex,  Hannah,  has  a  vast  power  which  most  women 
do  not  understand.  He  picks  up  a  hundred  little  threads  of 
weakness,  each  of  which  is  apparently  insignificant,  and 
twists  them  into  a  chain.  He  surprises  us  at  times  when  our 
judgment  is  clouded,  his  superior  reason  runs  in  advance  of 
our  thoughts — and  we  don't  think  very  hard,  you  know — and 
will  surely  bind  us  hand  and  foot,  unless  some  new  personality 
comes  in  to  interrupt  him.  We  women  are  governed  by  per- 
sonal influences — there  is  no  use  in  denying  the  fact.  And 
men,  of  course,  have  the  strongest." 

"  I  have  sometimes  feared  as  much,"  said  Hannah  Thurston, 
sadly,  "  but  is  it  not  owing  to  a  false  education  ?  Are  not 
women  trained  to  consider  themselves  inferior,  and  thus  de- 
pendent? Do  not  the  daughters  learn  the  lesson  of  their 
mothers,  and  the  fathers  impress  the  opposite  lesson  on  their 
sons  ?" 

"  I  know  what  you  mean,  and  you  are  partly  right.  But 
that  is  not  all.  There  are  superior  women  whom  we  look  up 
to — I  look  up  to  you,  Hannah,  who  are,  intellectually,  so  far 
above  me — but  they  never  impress  us  with  the  same  sense  of 
power,  of  protecting  capacity,  that  we  feel  in  the  presence  of 


210  HAXNAH  THURSTON: 

• 

almost  any  man.  It  is  something  I  cannot  explain — a  sort  of 
physical  magnetism,  I  suppose.  I  respect  men :  I  like  them 
because  they  are  men,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess :  and  I  am 
not  humiliated  as  a  woman,  by  acknowledging  the  difference." 

"  Habit  and  tradition !"  Hannah  Thurston  exclaimed. 

"  I  know  you  will  think  so,  Hannah,  and  I  am  not  able  to  an- 
swer you.  When  I  hear  you  speak,  sometimes,  every  word  you 
say  seems  just  and  true,  but  my  instincts,  as  a  woman,  remain 
the  same.  Your  life  has  been  very  different  from  mine,  and 
perhaps  you  have  taken,  without  knowing  it,  a  sort  of  warlike 
position  towards  men,  and  have  wilfully  resisted  their  natural 
influence  over  you.  For  your  sake,  I  have  often  longed — and 
you  must  pardon  me,  if  I  ought  not  to  say  such  a  thing — that 
some  man,  in  every  respect  worthy  of  you,  should  come  to 
know  you  as  you  are,  and  love  you,  and  make  you  his  wife." 

"  Don't — don't  speak  of  that,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  to-night,  dear,"  Mrs.  Waldo  soothingly 
replied.  "  I  have  been  thinking  as  I  came  along,  what  cause 
I  have  to  thank  God  for  having  given  me  a  good  and  faithful 
husband.  I  should  never  have  been  happy  as  a  single  woman, 
and  for  that  reason,  no  doubt,  your  life  seems  imperfect  to 
me.  But  we  cannot  always  judge  the  hearts  of  others  by  our 
own." 

By  this  time  the  glimmering  arch  of  summer  twilight  had 
settled  behind  the  hills,  and  only  the  stars  lighted  them  on 
their  way.  The  road  stretched  before  them  like  a  dusky 
band,  between  the  shapeless  darkness  of  woods  and  fields,  on 
either  side.  Indistinct  murmurs  of  leaves  and  rustlings  among 
the  grass  began  to  be  heard,  and  at  every  sound  Mrs.  Waldo 
started  nervously. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  coward  as  I  am !"  she  exclaimed, 
in  a  low  voice.  "If  you  were  not. with  me,  I  should  go  wild 
with  fear.  Do  you  suppose  any  man  in  the  world  is  so 
timid  V" 

''There,  again,  I  cannot  judge,"  Miss  Thurston  answered. 

I  only  know  that  I  arn  never  alarmed  at  night,  and  that  this 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  217 

journey  would  be  a  perfect  enjoyment,  if  we  were  not  going 
on  such  an  unfortunate  errand." 

"I  always  knew  you  were  an  exception  among  women. 
Your  nerves  are  like  a  man's,  but  mine  are  altogether  feminine, 
and  I  can't  help  myself." 

The  horse  stopped  at  a  toll-gate.  They  were  only  two 
miles  from  Tiberius,  and  the  road  descended  the  greater  part 
of  the  way.  Mrs.  Waldo  recovered  her  courage,  for  the 
houses  were  now  more  thickly  scattered,  and  the  drive  would 
soon  be  at  an  end.  The  old  horse,  too,  had  by  this  time  recog- 
nized the  extent  of  his  task,  and  determined  to  get  through 
with  it.  They  rattled  rapidly  onwards,  and  from  the  next  rise 
saw  the  lights  of  the  town,  twinkling  around  the  foot  of 
Atauga  Lake. 

As  they  reached  the  suburban  belt,  where  every  square, 
flat-roofed,  chocolate-colored  villa  stood  proudly  in  the  centre 
of  its  own  square  plot  of  ground,  Hannah  Thurston  asked: 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?" 

"  Bless  me,  I  never  thought  of  that.  But  I  think  my  hus- 
band generally  stops  at  '  The  Eagle,'  and  we  can  at  least  leave 
the  horse  there.  Then  we  must  try  to  find  him  and — the 
others.  I  think  our  best  plan  would  be  to  go  to  the  railroad 
station." 

The  gardens  and  villas  gradually  merged  into  the  irregular, 
crowded  buildings  which  lined  the  principal  street.  Many 
stores  were  open,  the  side-walks  were  lively  with  people, 
transparencies  gleamed  before  ice-cream  saloons,  and  gas- 
lamps  burned  brilliantly  at  the  corners. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Waldo. 

Hannah  Thurston  looked  at  her  watch.  "A  quarter  past 
nine." 

"  We  have  made  good  time,"  said  her  companion ;  "  Heaven 
grant  that  we  are  not  too  late !" 
10 


218  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

WHICH   SOLVES   THE   PRECEDING    ONE. 

MRS.  MERRYFIELD,  on  forsaking  her  home,  had  not  anticipated 
the  possibility  of  an  immediate  pursuit.  She  supposed,  of 
course,  that  her  husband  would  first  discover  her  intention  the 
next  morning,  when  he  would  have  occasion  to  use  the  hair- 
brush. He  would  then,  sooner  or  later,  she  believed,  follow 
her  to  the  Community,  where  the  sight  of  a  Perfect  Society, 
of  an  Eden  replanted  on  the  Earth,  would  not  only  convince 
him  of  the  wisdom  of  her  act,  but  compel  him  to  imitate  it. 
If  their  convictions  had  been  reversed,  and  he  had  desired  to 
try  the  new  social  arrangement,  could  he  not  have  done  so 
with  impunity,  regardless  of  her  opposition?  Then,  their 
rights  being  equal,  why  should  she  consult  his  pleasure  ? 

Thus  she  reasoned,  or,  rather,  Dyce  reasoned  for  her.  She 
was  a  very  weak  and  foolish  woman,  afflicted  with  that  worst 
of  temperaments  which  is  at  the  same  time  peevish  and  stub- 
born, and  did  not  at  all  appreciate  the  gravity  of  the  step  she 
had  taken.  An  inner  voice,  indeed,  told  her  that  its  secrecy 
was  unjustifiable — that  she  should  openly  and  boldly  declare 
her  intention  to  her  husband ;  but  her  base  friend  easily  per- 
suaded her  that  it  was  better  to  draw  him  after  her  when  she 
had  reached  the  Community,  and  settle  the  difference  there. 
His  own  eyes  would  then  convince  him  of  her  wisdom  :  oppo- 
sition would  be  impossible,  with  the  evidence  before  him.  She 
would  thus  spare  herself  a  long  and  perhaps  fruitless  encounter 
of  opinions,  which,  owing  to  the  finer  organization  of  her 
spiritual  nature,  she  ought  to  avoid.  Such  differences,  he 
said,  disturbed  the  atmosphere  in  which  spirits  most  readily 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  219 

approached  and  communicated  with  her.  In  the  pure  and 
harmonious  life  of  the  Community,  she  might  perhaps  attain  to 
the  condition  of  a  medium,  and  be  always  surrounded  by  an- 
gelic company. 

The  afternoon  was  hot  and  they  drove  slowly,  so  that  even 
before  they  reached  Tiberius,  the  two  parties  of  pursuers  were 
on  the  way.  Just  as  they  entered  the  town,  Mr.  Woodbury 
passed  the  carriage  on  horseback^  Glancing  at  its  occupants, 
he  recognized  Mrs.  Merryfield,  bowed,  and  reined  in  his  horse 
as  if  to  speak,  but  seeing  Dyce,  his  cordial  expression  became 
suddenly  grave,  and  he  rode  on.  This  encounter  troubled 
Mrs.  Merryfield.  A  secret  uneasiness  had  been  growing  upon 
her  during  the  latter  part  of  the  way,  and  Woodbury's  look 
inspired  her  with  a  vague  fear.  She  involuntarily  hoped  that 
she  might  not  meet  him  again,  or  any  one  she  knew,  before 
leaving  Tiberius.  She  would  not  even  visit  Mrs.  Nevins,  as 
she  had  proposed.  Moreover,  Woodbury  would  probably  put 
up  at  the  hotel  which  she  and  her  husband  usually  visited. 
Another  must  be  selected,  and  she  accordingly  directed  Dyce 
to  drive  through  the  town  to  a  tavern  on  its  northern  side,  not 
far  from  the  railroad  station. 

At  half-past  eight  in  the  evening  her  husband  and  Mr. 
Waldo  alighted  in  front  of  "  The  Eagle."  As  the  former  was 
giving  orders  about  the  horse  to  the  attendant  ostler,  Wood- 
bury  came  down  the  steps  and  immediately  recognized  the 
new  arrivals. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  all  Ptolemy  coming  to  Tiberius 
to-day  ?  Your  wife  has  the  start  of  you,  Mr.  Merryfield :  I 
passed  her  this  evening" 

A  violent  grasp  on  his  arm  interrupted  him.  "  Where  is 
she  ?  Have  they  left  ?"  the  husband  hoarsely  asked. 

The  light  from  the  corner-lamp  fell  full  upon  his  face.  Its 
expression  of  pain  and  anxiety  was  unmistakable,  and  a  pre- 
sentiment of  the  incredible  truth  shot  through  Woodbury's 
rnind. 

"  Hush,  my  friend !"   said  Mr.  Waldo.     "  Control  yourself 


220  HANNAH    THUE.STON  : 

while  we  register  our  names,  and  then  we  will  go  to  work. 
It  is  fortunate  that  you  have  betrayed  yourself  to  Mr.  Wood- 
bury  instead  of  some  one  else.  Come  with  us!"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  latter ;  "  you  must  now  know  the  rest.  We 
can  trust  every  thing  to  your  honor." 

They  entered  the  office  of  the  hotel.  Merryfield,  after 
drinking  a  large  tumbler  of  ice-water,  recovered  some  degree 
of  composure.  Mr.  Waldo  ascertained  from  the  landlord  that 
the  next  train  for  the  east  would  leave  at  midnight,  the  pre- 
vious train  having  left  at  five  o'clock.  Woodbury,  seeing  the 
necessity  of  a  private  understanding,  invited  them  both  to  his 
room,  where  the  whole  affair  was  explained  to  him,  and  he 
was  able  to  assure  them,  by  recalling  the  hour  of  his  own  ar- 
rival, that  Dyce  and  Mrs.  Merryfield  must  be  still  in  the  town. 

"  We  have  three  hours,"  said  he,  "  and  they  must  be  found 
in  half  the  time.  There  must  not  be  a  meeting  at  the  station. 
Have  you  no  idea,  Mr.  Merryfield,  where  your  wife  would  go  ?" . 

"  She  spoke  of  visiting  Mrs.  Nevins,  as  it  were,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  it  is  quite  unlikely  that  she  is  there,"  said  Woodbury. 
"  But  we  must  first  settle  the  point.  Let  us  go  at  once  :  where 
is  the  house  ?" 

Merryfield  led  the  way,  much  supported  and  encouraged  by 
Woodbury's  prompt,  energetic  manner.  He  had  now  less 
dread  of  the  inevitable  encounter  with  Dyce. 

A  walk  of  ten  minutes  brought  them  to  the  Nevins  mansion. 
It  was  a  small  villa,  with  a  Grecian  portico,  seated  in  a  diminu- 
tive garden.  There  was  a  light  in  the  front  room.  Mr. 
Waldo  was  unacquainted  with  the  inmates,  and  afraid  to 
allow  Merryfield  to  enter  the  house  alone.  There  was  a 
moment  of  perplexity. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Woodbury,  suddenly.  "  Move  on  a  little, 
and  wait  for  me."  He  boldly  entered  the  garden  and  stepped 
upon  the  Grecian  portico.  The  windows  had  muslin  curtains 
across  their  lower  half,  but  he  easily  looked  over  them  into 
the  room.  A  middle-aged  woman,  in  a  rocking-chair,  was 
knitting  some  worsted  stuff  with  a  pair  of  wooden  needles. 


A   STOKY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  221 

On  the  other  side  of  the  lamp,  with  his  back  to  her,  sat  a  man, 
absorbed  in  a  newspaper.  A  boy  of  ten  years  old  lay  asleep 
on  the  carpet.  Noting  all  this  at  a  glance,  Woodbury  knocked 
at  the  door.  A  rustling  of  the  newspaper  followed,  footsteps 
entered  the  hall,  and  the  outer  door  was  opened. 

Woodbury  assumed  a  natural  air  of  embarrassed  disappoint- 
ment. "  I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  made  a  mistake. 
Does  Mr.  Israel  Thompson  live  here?" 

"  Israel  Thompson  ?  I  don't  know  any  such  person.  There's 
James  Thompson,  lives  further  down  the  street,  on  the  other 
side." 

u  Thank  you.  I  will  inquire  of  him.  I  am  a  stranger  here," 
and  he  rejoined  his  friends.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  to  save  time, 
Mr.  Waldo,  you  and  I  must  visit  the  other  hotels,  dividing 
them  between  us.  Mr.  Merryfield  had  better  not  take  any  part 
in  the  search.  Let  him  wait  for  us  on  the  corner  opposite 
'  The  Eagle.'  We  can  make  our  separate  rounds  in  twenty 
minutes,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  have  discovered  them  by  that 
time." 

An  enumeration  of  the  hotels  was  made,  and  the  two  gen- 
tlemen divided  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  economize  time 
in  making  their  rounds.  They  then  set  out  in  different  direc- 
tions, leaving  Merryfield  to  walk  back  alone  to  the  rendezvous. 
Hitherto,  the  motion  and  excitement  of  the  pursuit  had  kept 
him  up,  but  now  he  began  to  feel  exhausted  and  desponding. 
He  had  not  eaten  since  noon,  and  experienced  all  the  weakness 
without  the  sensation  of  hunger.  A  powerful  desire  for  an 
artificial  stimulant  came  over  him,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  halted 
before  the  red  light  of  a  drinking-saloon,  wondering  whether 
there  was  any  one  inside  who  could  recognize  him.  The  door 
opened,  and  an  atmosphere  of  rank  smoke,  tobacco-soaked  saw- 
dust, and  pungent  whiskey  gushed  out ;  oaths  and  fragments 
of  obscene  talk  met  his  ears,  a,nd  he  hurried  away  in  disgust. 
At  "  The  Eagle  "  he  fortified  himself  again  with  ice-water, 
and  then  took  his  stand  on  the  opposite  corner,  screened  from 
the  lamp-light  by  an  awning-post. 


222  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


The  late  storekeepers  up  and  down  the  street  were  putting 
up  their  shutters,  but  the  ice-cream  transparencies  still  shone 
brightly,  and  the  number  of  visitors  rather  increased  than  di- 
minished. From  a  neighboring  house  came  the  sound  of  a 
piano,  and  presently  a  loud,  girlish  voice  which  sang  :  "  I  dreamt 
that  I  dwe-helt  in  ma-harble  halls."  What  business,  he 
thought,  had  people  to  be  eating  ice-cream  and  singing  songs  ? 
It  was  an  insulting  levity.  How  long  a  time  his  friends  had 
been  absent  !  A  terrible  fear  came  over  him  —  what  if  he 
should  not  find  his  wife  ?  At  night  —  no,  he  dared  not  think 
of  it.  He  looked  down  the  crossing  streets,  in  all  four  direc- 
tions, as  far  as  his  eye  could  pierce,  and  inspected  the  approach- 
ing figures.  Now  he  was  sure  he  recognized  Woodbury's 
commanding  form;  now  the  brisk  gait  of  the  short  clergy- 
man. But  they  came  nearer  and  resolved  themselves  into 
strangers.  Then  he  commenced  again,  striving  to  keep  an 
equal  watch  on  all  the  streets.  The  appointed  time  was  past, 
and  they  did  not  come  !  A  cold  sweat  began  to  gather  on 
his  forehead,  and  he  was  ready  to  despair.  All  at  once,  Mr. 
Waldo  appeared,  close  at  hand,  and  hurried  up  to  him,  breath- 
less. 

"  I  have  finished  my  list,"  said  he. 

"  Have  you  found  them  ?" 

"No,  but  -  what  does  this  mean!"  cried  the  clergyman, 
starting.  "  That  is  my  horse,  certainly  —  and  the  old  gig  ! 
Can  my  wife"  - 

He  did  not  finish,  the  sentence,  but  sprang  into  the  street 
and  called.  The  horse  turned  his  head  from  a  sudden  jerk  of 
the  lines,  and  in  a  moment  was  drawn  up  beside  the  pave- 
ment. 

"  How  glad  I  am  we  have  met  you  !  I  could  not  stay  at 
home,  indeed.  You  will  let  us  help,  will  you  not  ?  Are  we 
in  time  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  apology,  entreaty,  and  anxiety 
all  mingling  in  her  voice. 

"  With  God's  favor,  we  are  still  in  time,"  her  husband  an- 
swered. 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  223 

"I  thank  you  for  coming — you  and  Hannah,  both,"  Merry- 
field  sadly  added,  "  but  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use." 

"  Cheer  up,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  Mr.  Woodbury  will  be 
here  in  a  moment." 

"He  is  here  already,"  said  Woodbury,  joining  them  at  the 

instant.     "  I  have  " He  paused,  recognizing  the  gig  and 

its  occupants,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Waldo. 

"  They  know  it,"  answered  the  latter,  "  and  for  that  reason 
they  have  come." 

"Brave  women!  We  may  need  their  help.  I  have  found 
the  persons  we  are  looking  for — at  the  Beaver  House,  in  the 
second-story  parlor,  waiting  for  the  midnight  train." 

"  Then  drive  on,  wife,"  said  Mr.  Waldo ;  "  you  can  put  up  the 
horse  there.  You  are  known  at  the  Eagle,  and  we  had  better 
avoid  curiosity.  Follow  us :  Mr.  Woodbury  will  lead  the  way." 

They  passed  up  the  street,  attracting  no  notice,  as  the  con- 
nection between  the  movements  of  the  women  in  the  gig,  and 
the  three  men  on  the  sidewalk,  was  not  apparent.  In  a  short 
time  they  reached  the  Beaver  House,  a  second-rate  hotel,  with 
a  deserted  air,  on  a  quiet  street,  and  near  the  middle  of  the 
block.  Two  or  three  loafers  were  in  the  office,  half  sliding 
out  of  the  short  arm-chairs  as  they  lounged,  and  lazily  talk- 
ing. Woodbury  called  the  landlord  to  the  door,  gave  the 
horse  into  his  charge,  and  engaged  a  private  room  until  mid- 
night. There  was  one,  he  had  already  ascertained,  adjoining 
the  parlor  on  the  second  story.  He  offered  liberal  pay,  pro- 
vided no  later  visitors  were  thrust  upon  them,  and  the  landlord 
was  very  willing  to  make  the  arrangement.  It  was  not  often 
that  he  received  so  much  patronage  in  one  evening. 

After  a  hurried  consultation,  in  whispers,  they  entered  the  v 
house.  The  landlord  preceded  them  up-stairs  with  a  lamp, 
and  ushered  them  into  the  appointed  room.  It  was  a  small 
oblong  chamber,  the  floor  decorated  with  a  coarse  but  very 
gaudy  carpet,  and  the  furniture  covered  with  shiny  hair-cloth, 
very  cold,  and  stiff,  and  slippery.  There  was  a  circular  table 
of  mahogany,  upon  which  lay  a  Bible,  and  the  Odd-Fellow's 


224  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

Annual,  bound  in  red.  Beside  it  was  a  huge  spittoon  of  brown 
stone- ware.  Folding-doors  connected  with  the  adjoining  par- 
lor, and  the  wood-work,  originally  of  unseasoned  pine,  gotten 
up  without  expense  but  regardless  of  durability,  was  so 
warped  and  sprung  that  these  doors  would  not  properly  close. 
Privacy,  so  far  as  conversation  was  concerned,  was  impossible. 
In  fact,  no  sooner  had  the  landlord  departed,  and  the  noise  of 
entrance  subsided  a  little,  than  Dyce's  voice  was  distinctly 
heard : 

"  You  should  overcome  your  restlessness.  All  pioneers  in 
great  works  have  their  moments  of  doubt,  but  they  are  caused 
by  the  attacks  of  evil  spirits." 

Merryfield  arose  in  great  agitation.  Perhaps  he  would  have 
spoken,  but  Mr.  Waldo  lifted  his  hand  to  command  silence, 
beckoned  to  his  wife,  and  the  three  left  the  room.  At  the 
door  the  clergyman  turned  and  whispered  to  Woodbury  and 
Hannah  Thurston :  "  You  may  not  be  needed :  wait  until  I 
summon  yon." 

The  next  instant  he  knocked  on  the  door  of  the  parlor. 
Dyce's  voice  replied :  "  Come  in."  He  entered  first,  followed 
by  his  wife,  and,  last  of  all,  the  injured  husband.  Dyce  and 
Mrs.  Merryfield  were  seated  side  by  side,  on  a  sofa.  Both,  as 
by  an  involuntary  impulse,  rose  to  their  feet.  The  latter 
turned  very  pale  ;  her  knees  trembled  under  her,  and  she  sank 
down  again  upon  her  seat.  Dyce,  however,  remained  stand- 
ing, and,  after  the  first  surprise  was  over,  regained  his  brazen 
effrontery. 

Merryfield  was  the  first  to  speak,  "Sarah,"  he  cried, 
"  What  does  this  mean  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  towards  the  window,  and  made  no 
answer. 

"  Mrs.  Merryfield,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  gravely,  yet  with  no 
harshness  in  his  tone,  "we  have  come,  as  your  friends,  be- 
lieving that  you  have  taken  this  step  hastily,  and  Avithout  con- 
sidering what  its  consequences  would  be.  We  do  not  think 
you  appreciate  its  solemn  importance,  both  for  time  and  foi 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  225 

eternity.  It  is  not  yet  too  late  to  undo  what  you  have  done, 
and  we  are  ready  to  help  you,  in  all  kindness  and  tenderness." 

"  I  want  nothing  more  than  my  rights,"  said  Mrs.  Merry- 
field,  in  a  hard,  stubborn  voice,  without  turning  her  head. 

"  I  will  never  interfere  with  your  just  rights,  as  a  woman,  a 
wife,  and  an  immortal  soul,"  the  clergyman  replied.  "  Brit 
you- have  not  alone  rights  to  receive  :  you  have  duties  to  per- 
form. You  have  bound  yourself  to  your  husband  in  holy 
marriage  ;  you  cannot  desert  him,  whose  faith  to  you  has  never 
been  broken,  who  now  stands  ready  to  pardon  your  present 
fault,  as  he  has  pardoned  all  your  past  ones,  without  incurring 
a  greater  sin  than  infidelity  to  him.  Your  married  relation 
includes  both  the  moral  laws  by  which  society  is  bound,  and 
the  Divine  laws  by  which  we  are  saved." 

"  The  usual  cant  of  theologians !"  interrupted  Dyce,  with  a 
sneer.  u  Mrs.  Merryfield  owes  nothing  to  the  selfish  and  arti- 
ficial machinery  which  is  called  Society.  Marriage  is  a  part 
of  the  machinery,  and  just  as  selfish  as  the  rest.  She  claims 
equal  rights  with  her  husband,  and  is  doing  no  more  than  he 
would  do,  if  he  possessed  all  of  her  convictions." 

"  I  would  never  do  it !"  cried  Merryfield, — "  not  for  all  tho 
Communities  in  the  world  !  Sarah,  I've  been  faithful  to  you, 
in  every  thought,  since  you  first  agreed  to  be  my  wife.  If  I've 
done  you  wrong  in  any  way,  tell  me!" 

"  I  only  want  my  rights,"  she  repeated,  still  looking  away. 

"  If  you  really  think  you  are  deprived  of  them,"  said  Mr. 
Waldo,  *'  come  home  with  us,  and  you  shall  be  fairly  heard 
and  fairly  judged.  I  promise  you,  as  an  impartial  friend,  that 
no  advantage  shall  be  taken  of  your  mistake :  you  shall  be 
treated  as  if  it  had  not  occurred.  Have  you  reflected  how 
this  act  will  be  interpreted,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ?  Can 
you  bear,  no  matter  how  innocent  you  may  be,  to  be  followed, 
through  all  the  rest  of  your  life,  by  the  silent  suspicion,  if  not 
the  open  reproach,  of  the  worst  shame  that  can  happen  to 
woman?  Suppose  you  reach  your  Community.  These  ex- 
periments have  often  been  tried,  and  they  have  always  failed. 
10* 


226  HANNAH    THUESTON  I 

You  might  hide  yourself  for  a  while  from  the  judgment  of  the 
world,  but  if  the  association  should  break  to  pieces — what 
then  ?  Does  the  possession  of  some  right  which  you  fancy  is 
withheld,  compensate  you  for  incurring  this  fearful  risk — nay, 
for  enduring  this  fearful  certainty  ?" 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?"  Dyce  roughly  exclaimed. 
"  You,  a  petrified  fossil  of  the  false  Society !  What  right  have 
you  to  judge  for  her  ?  She  acts  from  motives  which  your 
narrow  mind  cannot  comprehend.  She  is  a  disciple  of  the 
Truth,  and  is  not  afraid  to  show  it  in  her  life.  If  she  lived 
only  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  like  the  rest  of  you,  she 
might  still  be  a  Vegetable !" 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  who  had  colored  suddenly  and  violently,  as 
the  clergyman  spoke,  and  had  turned  her  face  towards  him,  for 
a  moment,  with  an  agitation  which  she  could  not  conceal,  now 
lifted  her  head  a  little,  and  mechanically  rocked  on  her  lap  a 
travelling-satchel,  which  she  had  grasped  with  both  hands. 
She  felt  her  own  inability  to  defend  herself,  and  recovered  a 
little  courage  at  hearing  it  done  so  fiercely  by  her  com- 
panion. 

Mr.  Waldo,  without  noticing  the  latter,  turned  to  her  again. 
"  I  will  not  even  condemn  the  motives  which  lead  you  to  this 
step,"  said  he,  "but  I  must  show  you  its  inevitable  conse- 
quences. Only  the  rarest  natures,  the  most  gifted  intellects, 
may  seem  to  disregard  the  ruling  habits  and  ideas  of  man- 
kind, because  God  has  specially  appointed  them  to  some  great 
work.  You  know,  Mrs.  Merryfield,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  you 
are  not  one  of  such.  The  world  will  make  no  exception  in 
your  favor.  It  cannot  put  our  kindly  and  tolerant  construc- 
tion upon  your  motives :  it  will  be  pitiless  and  inflexible,  and 
its  verdict  will  crush  you  to  the  dust." 

"  Sarah,"  said  her  husband,  more  in  pity  than  in  reproach, 
"  do  stop  and  think  what  you  are  doing !  What  Mr.  Waldo 
says  is  true :  you  will  bring  upon  yourself  more  than  you  can 
bear,  or  I  can  bear  for  you.  I  don't  charge  you  with  any 
thing  wrong;  I  don't  believe  you  would  be  guilty  of — of — I 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  227 

can't  say  it — but  I  couldn't  hold  up  my  head,  as — as  it  were, 
and  defend  you  by  a  single  word." 

"  Oh,  no !  of  course  you  couldn't !"  Dyce  broke  in  again, 
with  an  insufferable  impudence.  "  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
— or  Mr.  Waldo,  for  that  matter, — what  men  are.  Don't  brag 
to  me  about  your  morality,  and  purity,  and  all  that  sort  of 
humbug:  what's  fit  for  one  sex  is  fit  for  the  other.  Men,  you 
know,  have  a  natural  monopoly  iji  the  indulgence  of  passion : 
it's  allowed  to  them,  but  woman  is  damned  by  the  very  sus- 
picion. You  know,  both  of  you,  that  any  man  would  as  lief 
be  thought  wicked  as  chaste — that  women  are  poor,  ignorant 
fools"— 

One  of  the  folding-doors  which  CQmmunicated  with  the  ad- 
joining room  was  suddenly  torn  open,  and  Woodbury  ap- 
peared. His  brown  eyes,  flashing  indignant  fire,  were  fixed 
upon  Dyce.  The  sallow  face  of  the  latter  grew  livid  with 
mingled  emotions  of  rage  and  fear.  With  three  strides, 
Woodbury  was  before  him. 

"  Stop !"  he  cried,  "  you  have  been  allowed  to  say  too  much 
already.  If  you"  he  added,  turning  to  the  others,  " have 
patience  with  this  beast,  I  have  not." 

"  Ah !  he  thinks  he's  among  his  Sepoys,"  Dyce  began,  but 
was  arrested  by  a  strong  hand  upon  his  collar.  Woodbury's 
face  was  pale,  but  calm,  and  his  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  the 
expression  of  which  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  the  medium. 
"  Now,  leave  !"  said  he,  in  a  low,  stern  voice,  "leave,  or  I 
hurl  you  through  that  window  !"  Relinquishing  his  grasp  on 
the  collar,  he  opened  the  door  leading  to  the  staircase,  and 
waited.  For  a  moment,  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met,  and  in 
that  moment  each  took  the  measure  of  the  other.  Dyce's 
figure  seemed  to  contract ;  his  breast  narrowed,  his  shoulders 
fell,  and  his  knees  approached  each  other.  He  walked  slowly 
and  awkwardly  to  the  end  of  the  sofa,  picked  up  his  valise, 
and  shumed  out  of  the  room  without  saying  a  word.  Wood- 
bury  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  said,  before  he  closed  it: 
"  Recollect,  you  leave  here  by  the  midnight  train."  Nona 


228  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

of  those  who  heard  it  had  any  doubt  that  the  command  would 
be  obeyed. 

Mr.  Merryfield  experienced  an  unbounded  sensation  of  relief 
on  Dyce's  departure ;  but  his  wife  was  only  frightened,  not 
conquered.  Although  pale  and  trembling,  she  stubbornly  held 
out,  her  attitude  expressing  her  collective  defiance  of  the  com- 
pany. She  avoided  directly  addressing  or  meeting  the  eyes 
of  any  one  in  particular.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence 
in  the  room,  and  she  took  advantage  of  it  to  forestall  the 
appeals  which  she  knew  would  be  made,  by  saying : 

"  Well,  now  you've  got  me  all  to  yourselves,  I  suppose  you'll 
try  to  bully  me  out  of  my  rights." 

"  We  have  no  intention  to  meddle  with  any  of  your  rights, 
as  a  wife,"  Mr.  Waldo  answered.  "You  must  settle  that 
question  with  your  husband.  But  does  not  your  heart  tell 
you  that  he  has  rights,  as  well  ?  And  what  has  he  done  to 
justify  you  in  deserting  him  ?" 

"He  needn't  be  deserted,"  she  said ;  "he  can  come  after  me." 

"Never  !"  exclaimed  her  husband.  "  If  you  leave  me  now, 
and  in  this  way,  Sarah,  you  will  not  see  me  again  until  you 
voluntarily  come  back  to  me.  And  think,  if  you  go  to  that 
place,  what  you  must  then  seem  to  me  !  I've  defended  you, 
Sarah,  and  will  defend  you  against  all  the  world  ;  but  if  you 
go  on,  you'll  take  the  power  of  doing  it  away  from  me. 
Whether  you  deserve  shame,  or  not,  it'll  come  to  you — and 
it'll  come  to  me,  just  the  same." 

The  deluded  wife  could  make  no  reply.  The  consequences 
of  her  step,  if  persisted  in,  were  beginning  to  dawn  upon  her 
mind,  but,  having  defended  it  on  the  ground  of  her  equal 
rights  as  a  woman,  a  pitiful  vanity  prevented  her  from  yield- 
ing. It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  attack  her  from  another 
quarter.  Hannah  Thurston  felt  that  the  moment  had  arrived 
when  she  might  venture  to  speak,  and  went  gently  forward  to 
the  sofa. 

"  Sarah,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  feel  that  I  am  your  friend. 
Will  you  not  believe  me,  then,  when  I  say  to  you  that  we 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  229 

have  all  followed  you,  prompted  only  by  the  pity  and  distress 
which  we  feel  for  your  sake  and  your  husband's  ?  We  beg 
you  not  to  leave  us,  your  true  friends,  and  go  among  strangers. 
Listen  to  us  calmly,  and  if  we  convince  you  that  you  are  mis- 
taken, the  admission  should  not  be  difficult." 

"  You,  too,  Hannah  !"  cried  Mrs.  Merryfield.  "  You,  that 
taught  me  what  my  rights  were !  Will  you  confess,  first,  that 
you  are  mistaken  ?" 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  Hannah  Thurston's  face. 
"  I  never  meant  to  claim  more  than  natural  justice  for  woman," 
said  she,  "  but  I  may  have  been  unhappy  in  my  advocacy  of  it. 
I  may  even,"  turning  towards  Mrs.  Waldo,  "have  seemed  to 
assume  a  hostile  position  towards  man.  If  so,  it  was  a  mis- 
take. If  what  I  have  said  has  prompted  you  to  this  step,  I 
will  take  my  share  of  humiliation.  But  we  will  not  talk  of 
that  now.  Blame  me,  Sarah,  if  you  like,  so  you  do  not  forget 
the  tenderness  you  cannot  wholly  have  lost,  for  him  whose  life 
is  a  part  of  yours,  here  and  hereafter.  Think  of  the  children 
who  are  waiting  for  you  in  the  other  life — waiting  for  both 
parents,  Sarah." 

The  stubborn  resistance  of  the  wife  began  to  give  way. 
Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  she  shook  as  if  a  mighty  struggle 
had  commenced  in  her  heart.  "  It  was  for  them,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  a  broken  voice,  "  that  I  was  going.  He  said  they 
would  be  nearer  to  me." 

"  Can  they  be  nearer  to  you  when  you  are  parted  from  their 
father?  Was  it  only  your  heart  that  was  wrung  at  their  loss? 
If  all  other  bonds  were  broken  between  you,  the  equal  share 
in  the  beings  of  those  Immortals  should  bind  you  in  life  and 
death !  Pardon  me  for  renewing  your  sorrow,  but  I  must 
invoke  the  purer  spirit  that  is  born  of  trial.  If  your  mutual 
watches  over  their  cradles  cannot  bring  back  the  memory  of 
your  married  love,  I  must  ask  you  to  remember  who  held 
your  hand  beside  their  coffins,  whose  arm  supported  you  in- 
the  lonely  nights  I" 
,  The  husband  could  endure  no  more.  Lifting  his  face  from 


230  .  HANNAH   THUBSTON  I 

his  hands,  he  cried  :  "  It  was  me,  Sarah.  And  now,  if  you 
leave  me,  there  will  be  no  one  to  talk  with  me  about  Absalom, 
and  Angelina,  and  our  dear  little  Robert,  Don't  you  mind 
how  I  used  to  dance  him  on  my  knee,  as — as  it  were,  and  tell 
him  he  should  have  a  horse  when  he  was  big  ?  He  had  such 
pretty  hair ;  you  always  said  he'd  make  a  handsome  man, 
Sarah  :  but  now  they're  all  gone.  There's  only  us  two,  now, 
as  it  were,  and  we  can't — no,  we  daren't  part.  We  won't 
part,  will  we  ?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  made  a  quiet  sign,  and  they  stole  gently  from 
the  room.  As  he  closed  the  door,  Woodbury  saw  the  con- 
quered and  penitent  wife  look  up  with  streaming  eyes,  sobbing 
convulsively,  and  stretch  out  her  arms.  The  next  instant,  Mrs. 
Waldo  had  half  embraced  him,  in  the  rush  of  her  pent-up 
gratitude. 

"  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  striving  to  subdue  her  voice,  "  how 
grand  it  was  that  you  put  down  that — that  man.  I  never 
believed  in  non-resistance,  and  now  I  know  that  I  am  right." 

Hannah  Thurston  said  nothing,  but  her  face  was  radiant 
with  a  tranquil  light.  She  could  not  allow  the  doubts  which 
had  arisen  in  her  mind — the  disturbing  influences  which  had,  of 
late,  beset  her,  to  cloud  the  happy  ending  of  such  a  painful 
day.  A  whispered  conversation  was  carried  on  between 
Woodbury  and  the  Waldos,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  low  voices 
in  the  next  room ;  but  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  the  door 
opened  and  Merry  field  appeared. 

"  We  will  go  home  to-night,  as  it  were,"  said  he.  "  The 
moon  rises  about  this  time,  and  the  night  is  warm." 

"  Then  we  will  all  go  !"  was  Mrs.  Waldo's  decision.  "  The 
carriages  will  keep  together — husband,  you  must  drive  one  of 
them,  alone — and  I  shall  not  be  so  much  alarmed.  It  is  better 
so :  curious  folks  will  not  see  that  we  have  been  absent,  and 
need  not  know." 

Woodbury  whispered  to  her :  "  I  shall  wait  until  the  train 
leaves." 

"  Will  yon  follow,  afterwards  ?" 


A    STOUT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  231 

"  Yes — but  no  :  my  intention  to  stay  all  night  is  known,  and 
I  ought  properly  to  remain,  unless  you  need  my  escort." 

"  Stay,"  said  Hannah  Thurston. 

The  vehicles  left  the  two  hotels  with  the  same  persons  who 
had  arrived  in  them — Dyce  excepted.  Outside  of  Tiberius 
they  halted,  and  Merryfield  joined  his  wife.  The  two  women 
followed,  and  Mr.  Waldo,  alone,  acted  as  rear-guard.  Thus,  in 
the  silent  night,  over  the  moonlit  lulls,  and  through  the  rust- 
ling darkness  of  the  woods,  they  went  homewards. 

Vague  suspicions  of  something  haunted  the  community  of 
Ptolemy  for  a  while,  but  nothing  was  ever  discovered  or  be- 
trayed which  could  give  them  a  definite  form.  And  yet,  of 
the  five  persons  to  whom  the  truth  was  known,  three  were 
women. 


232  HANNAH   THURSTON 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

ONE    OF   THE   SUMMER   DIVERSIONS    OP   PTOLEMY. 

TEN  days  after  the  journey  to  Tiberius,  the  highways  in 
both  valleys,  and  those  descending  from  the  hills  on  either 
side,  were  unusually  thronged.  Country  carriages,  buggies 
of  all  fashions,  and  light  open  carts,  rapidly  succeeded  each 
other,  all  directing  their  course  towards  the  village.  They 
did  not  halt  there,  however,  but  passed  through,  and,  climbing 
the  gentle  acclivity  of  the  southern  hill,  halted  at  a  grove, 
nearly  a  mile  distant.  Here  the  Annual  Temperance  Conven- 
tion of  Atanga  County  was  to  be  held.  The  cause  had  been 
languishing  for  the  past  }|ear  or  two  ;  many  young  men  had 
become  careless  of  their  pledges,  and  the  local  societies  were 
beginning  to  fall  to  pieces,  because  the  members  had  heard  all 
that  was  to  be  said  on  the  subject,  and  had  done  all  that  could 
conveniently  be  done.  The  plan  of  procuring  State  legislation 
in  their  favor  rendered  it  necessary  to  rekindle,  in  some  meas- 
ure, the  fires  of  zeal — if  so  warm  an  expression  can  be  applied 
to  so  sober  a  cause — and  one  of  the  most  prominent  speakers 
on  Temperance,  Mr.  Abiram  Stokes,  was  called  upon  to  brush 
up  his  well-used  images  and  illustrations  for  a  new  campaign. 

It  was  announced,  by  means  of  large  placards,  posted 
in  all  the  village  stores,  post-offices,  and  blacksmiths'  shops, 
far  and  wide,  that  not  only  he,  but  Mr.  Grindle  and  several 
other  well-known  speakers  were  to  address  the  Convention. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  same  placard  was  conspicuously 
displayed  in  the  bar-room  of  the  Ptolemy  House,  the  landlord 
candidly  declaring  that  he  would  be  glad  if  such  a  convention 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  233 

were  held  every  week,  as  it  brought  him  a  great  deal  of  cus- 
tom. The  friends  of  the  cause  were  called  upon  for  a  special 
effort ;  the  day  was  carefully  arranged  to  come  at  the  end  of 
haying,  yet  before  the  wheat -harvest  had  fairly  commenced  ; 
moreover,  it  was  Saturday,  and  the  moon  was  nearly  full. 
The  weather  favored  the  undertaking,  and  by  noon  the  line  of 
the  roads  could  be  distinguished,  at  some  distance,  by  the 
dust  which  arose  from  the  strings  of  vehicles. 

The  principal  members  of  the  local  societies — especially 
those  of  Atauga  City,  Anacreon,  Nero  Corners,  Mulligansville, 
and  New  Pekin — came  in  heavy  lumber-wagons,  decorated 
with  boughs  of  spruce  and  cedar,  carrying  with  them  their 
banners,  whenever  they  had  any.  With  some  difficulty,  a 
sufficient  sum  was  raised  to  pay  for  the  services  of  the  Ptolemy 
Cornet  Band,  in  performing,  as  the  placard  stated,  "  melodies 
appropriate  to  the  occasion."  What  those  melodies  were,  it 
was  not  very  easy  to  determine,  and  the  managing  committee  of 
the  Ptolemy  Society  had  a  special  meeting  on  the  subject,  the 
night  before.  A  wag  suggested  "  The  Meeting  of  the  Waters," 
which  was  at  once  accepted  with  delight.  "  Bonny  Doon" 
found  favor,  as  it  "  minded"  the  hearers  of  a  Scottish  brook. 
"  The  Campbells  are  Comin' "  was  also  on  the  list,  until  some 
one  remembered  that  the  landlord  of  the  Ptolemy  House  bore 
the  name  of  that  clan.  "  A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea"  hinted 
too  strongly  at  "  half-seas  over,"  and  all  the  familiar  Irish  airs 
were  unfortunately  associated  with  ideas  of  wakes  and  Donny- 
brook  Fairs.  After  much  painful  cogitation,  the  "  Old  Oaken 
Bucket,"  "Allan  Water,"  "Zurich's  Waters,"  and  "The 
Haunted  Spring"  were  discovered  ;  but  the  band  was  not  able 
to  play  more  than  half  of  them.  Its  most  successful  perform- 
ance, we  are  bound  to  confess,  was  the  air  of  "  Landlord,  fill 
the  flowing  bowl,"  which  the  leader  could  not  resist  giving 
once  or  twice  during  the  day,  to  the  great  scandal  of  those 
votaries  of  the  cause  who  had  once  been  accustomed  to  sing  it 
in  character. 

The  grove  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  oak  and  hickory  timber, 


234  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

sloping  towards  the  north,  and  entirely  clear  of  underbrush. 
It  covered  about  four  acres  of  ground,  and  was  neither  so 
dense  nor  fell  so  rapidly  as  to  shut  out  a  lovely  glimpse  of 
the  valley  and  the  distant,  dark-blue  sheet  of  the  lake,  between 
the  boles.  It  was  pervaded  with  a  grateful  smell,  from  the 
trampled  grass  and  breathing  leaves ;  and  wherever  a  beam  of 
sunshine  pierced  the  boughs,  it  seemed  to  single  out  some  bit 
of  gay  color,  in  shawl,  or  ribbon,  or  parasol,  to  play  upon  and 
utilize  its  brightness.  At  the  bottom  of  the  grove,  against 
two  of  the  largest  trees,  a  rough  platform  was  erected,  in 
front  of  which,  rising  and  radiating  amphitheatrically,  were 
plank  benches,  capable  of  seating  a  thousand  persons.  Those 
who  came  from  a  distance  were  first  on  hand,  and  took  their 
places  long  before  the  proceedings  commenced.  Near  the 
main  entrance,  venders  of  refreshments  had  erected  their 
stands,  and  displayed  to  the  thronging  visitors  a  tempting 
variety  of  indigestible  substances.  There  was  weak  lemonade, 
in  tin  buckets,  with  huge  lumps  of  ice  glittering  defiantly  at 
the  sun ;  scores  of  wired  bottles,  filled  with  a  sarsaparilla  mix- 
ture, which  popped  out  in  a  rush  of  brown  suds  ;  ice-cream, 
the  cream  being  eggs  beaten  up  with  water,  and  flavored  with 
lemon  sirup  ;  piles  of  dark,  leathery  ginger-cakes,  and  rows 
of  glass  jars  full  of  candy-sticks  ;  while  the  more  enterprising 
dealers  exhibited  pies  cut  into  squares,  hard-boiled  eggs,  and 
even  what  they  called  coffee. 

Far  down  the  sides  of  the.  main  road  to  Ptolemy  the  vehicles 
were  ranged,  and.  even  inside  the  adjoining  fields — the  owner 
of  which,  being  a  friend  to  the  cause,  had  opened  his  bars  to 
the  multitude.  Many  of  the  farmers  from  a  distance  brought 
their  own  oats  with  them,  and  unharnessed  and  fed  their  horses 
in  the  fence-corners,  before  joining  the  crowd  in  the  grove. 
Then,  accompanied  by  their  tidy  wives,  who,  meanwhile,  ex- 
amined the  contents  of  the  dinner-baskets  and  saw  that  every 
thing  was  in  order,  they  approached  the  meeting  with  satisfied 
and  mildly  exhilarated  spirits,  occasionally  stopping  to  greet 
an  acquaintance  or  a  relative.  The  daughters  had  already  pre- 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  235 

ceded  them,  with  their  usual  independence,  well  knowing  the 
impatience  of  the  young  men,  and  hoping  that  the  most  agree- 
able of  the  latter  would  discover  them  before  the  meeting  was 
called  to  order.  This  was  the  real  charm  of  the  occasion,  to 
old  as  well  as  young.  The  American  needs  a  serious  pretext 
for  his  recreation.  He  does  not,  in  fact,  recognize  its  ne- 
cessity, and  would  have  none  at  all,  did  not  Nature,  with 
benevolent  cunning,  occasionally  furnish  him  with  diversion 
under  the  disguise  of  duty. 

As  the  banners  of  the  local  societies  arrived,  they  were  set 
up  in  conspicuous  positions,  on  and  around  the  speaker's  plat- 
form.    That  of  Tiberius  was  placed  in  the  centre.     It  was  of 
bHie  silk,  with  a  gold  fringe,  and  an  immense  geyser-like  foun- 
tain in  its  field,  under  which  were  the  words :  "  Ho !  every  one 
that  thirsteth  !"     On  the  right  was  the  banner  of  Ptolemy — a 
brilliant  rainbow,  on  a  white  ground,  with  the  warning :  "  Look 
not  upon  the  Wine  when  it  is  Red."     What  connection  there 
was  between  this  sentence  and  the  rainbow  was  not  apparent, 
unless  the  latter  was  meant  to  represent  a  watery  deluge.  The 
banner  of  Anacreon,  on  the  left,  held  forth  a  dancing  female, 
in  a  crimson  dress.     One  foot  was  thrown  far  out  behind  her, 
and   she  was   violently   pitching  forward;    yet,   in   this   un- 
comfortable   position,    she    succeeded    in    pouring    a    thick 
stream  of  water  from  a  ewer   of  blue  china  into  the  open 
mouth  of  a  fat  child,  who  wore  a  very  scanty  dress.     The 
inscription  was :  "  The  Fountain  of  Youth."     The  most  inge- 
nious device,  however,  was  that  from  Nero  Corners.     This  lit- 
tle community,  too  poor  or  too  economical  to  own  a  temper- 
ance banner,  took  a  political  one,  which  they  had  used  in  the 
campaign  of  the  previous  year.     Upon  it  were  the  names  of 
the  candidates  for   President  and  Vice-President:  " PIERCE 
and  KING."     A  very  little  alteration  turned  the  word  "  Pierce"' 
into  "Prince,"  and  the  word   "  WATER"  being  prefixed,  the 
inscription   became:    "Water, — Prince  and    King."      Those 
from  other  neighborhoods,  who  were  not  in  the  secret,  greatly 
admired  the  simplicity  and  force  of  the  expression. 


236  HANNAH  THUBSTON: 

Woodbury,  who  was  early  upon  the  ground,  was  much  in- 
terested in  the  scene.  Between  two  and  three  thousand  per- 
sons were  present,  but  an  order  and  decorum  prevailed,  which 
would  be  miraculous  in  lands  where  the  individual  is  not  per- 
mitted to  grow  up  self-ruled,  or  swayed  only  by  the  example 
of  his  fellows,  and  self-reliant.  No  servant  of  the  law  was  pres- 
ent to  guard  against  disorder,  because  each  man  was  his  own 
policeman.  Even  some  tipsy  rowdies,  who  came  out  from 
Ptolemy  towards  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  were  sobered 
by  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  and  had  no  courage  to  make 
their  intended  interruptions.  The  effect  of  such  meetings, 
Woodbury  confessed  to  himself,  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  good;  the  reform  was  necessary  among  a  people  whose 
excitable  temperament  naturally  led  them  to  excesses,  and 
perhaps  it  was  only  one  extreme  which  could  counteract 
the  other.  There  was  still  too  little  repose,  too  little  mental 
balance  among  them,  to  halt  upon  the  golden  middle-ground 
of  truth. 

The  band  occupied  the  platform  for  some  time  after  he  ar- 
rived, and  its  performances  gave  intense  satisfaction  to  the 
people.  The  clear  tones  of  the  horns  and  clarionets  pealed 
triumphantly  through  the  shade,  and  an  occasional  slip  in  an 
instrument  was  unnoticed  in  the  hum  of  voices.  Gradually, 
the  hearers  were  lifted  a  little  out  of  the  material  sphere  in 
which  they  habitually  moved,  and  were  refreshed  accordingly. 
They  were  made  capable,  at  least,  of  appreciating  some  senti- 
ment and  imagination  in  the  speakers,  and  words  were  now 
heard  with  delight,  which,  in  their  common  moods,  would  have 
been  vacant  sound.  They  touched,  in  spite  of  themselves,  that 
upper  atmosphere  of  poetry  which  hangs  over  all  human  life — 
where  the  cold  marsh-fogs  in  which  we  walk  become  the  rosy 
cloud-islands  of  the  dawn  ! 

At  two  o'clock,  the  band  vacated  the  platform,  and  the  Con- 
vention was  called  to  order.  After  an  appropriate  prayer  by 
the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles,  a  temperance  song  was  sung  by  a  large 
chorus  of  the  younger  members.  It  was  a  parody  on  Hoff- 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  237 

man's  charming  anacreontic :  "  Sparkling  and  Bright,"  the 
words  of  which  were  singularly  transformed.  Instead  of: 

a  As  the  bubbles  that  swim  on  the  beaker's  brim, 
And  break  on  the  lips  at  meeting," 

the  refrain  terminated  with : 

"  There's  nothing  so  good  for  the  youthful  blood, 
Or  so  sweet  as  the  sparkling  water !" 

— in  the  style  of  a  medicinal  prescription.  Poor  Hoffman! 
Koble  heart  and  fine  mind,  untimely  darkened !  He  was  at 
least  spared  this  desecration  ;  or  perhaps,  with  the  gay  humor 
with  which  even  that  darkness  is  still  cheered,  he  would  have 
parodied  the  parody  to  death. 

The  Annual  Report  was  then  read.  It  was  of  great  length, 
being  mainly  a  furious  appeal  to  voters.  The  trick  of  basing 
a  political  issue  upon  a  personal  habit  was  an  innovation  in  the 
science  of  government,  which  the  natural  instincts  of  the  peo- 
ple were  too  enlightened  to  accept  without  question.  The 
County  Committee,  foreseeing  this  difficulty,  adopted  the  usual 
tactics  of  party,  and  strove  to  create  a  headlong  tide  of  sym- 
pathy which  would  overbear  all  hesitancy  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
the  movement,  or  the  dangerous  precedent  which  it  introduced 
into  popular  legislation.  "Vote  for  the  Temperance  Candi- 
dates," they  cried,  in  the  Report,  "  and  you  vote  for  morality, 
and  virtue,  and  religion  !  Vote  against  them,  and  you  vote  for 
disease,  and  misery,  and  crime  !  Vote  for  them,  and  you  vote 
reason  to  the  frantic  brain,  clearness  to  the  bleared  eye,  steadi- 
*ness  to  the  trembling  hand,  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  forsaken 
wife,  and  bread  to  the  mouths  of  the  famishing  children  !  Vote 
against  them,  and  you  vote  to  fill  our  poor-houses  and  peniten- 
tiaries— to  tighten  the  diabolical  hold  of  the  rumseller  on  his 
struggling  victim — to  lead  our  young  men  into  temptation,  and 
bring  ruin  on  our  beloved  land  !  Yes,  you  would  vote  to  fill 
the  drunkard's  bottle ;  you  would  vote  oaths  and  obscenity  into 
his  speech  ;  you  would  vote  curses  to  his  wife,  blows  to  his 
children,  the.  shoes  off  their  feet,  the  shirts  off  their  backs, 
the  beds  from  under  them,  and  the  roofs  from  over  their  heads." 


238  HANNAH    THUKSTON  I 

The  Report  was  adopted  with  tremendous  unanimity,  and 
the  faces  of  the  members  of  the  Committee  beamed  with  sat- 
isfaction. The  political  movement  might  be  considered  as 
successfully  inaugurated.  This  was  the  main  object  of  the 
Convention,  and  the  waiting  orators  now  saw  that  they  had  a 
clear  and  pleasant  field-  before  them.  Woodbury,  who  was 
leaning  against  a  tree,  near  the  end  of  a  plank  upon  which  his 
friends  the  Waldos  were  seated,  listened  with  an  involuntary 
sensation  of  pain  and  regret.  The  very  character  of  the  Report 
strengthened  him  in  the  CCR  /  tf  <  ,ii  that  the  vice  to  be  cured 
had  its  origin  in  a  radical  defect  of  the  national  temperament, 
which  no  legislation  could  reach. 

Mrs.  Waldo  looked  up  at  him,  inquiringly.  He  shook  his 
head.  "  It  is  a  false  movement,"  said  he ;  "  good  works  are 
not  accomplished  by  violence." 

"  But  sometimes  by  threatening  it,"  she  answered,  with  a 
meaning  smile. 

He  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  President  announced  that 
Byron  Baxter,  of  the  Anacreon  Seminary,  would  recite  a  poem, 
after  which  the  meeting  would  be  addressed  by  Mr.  Abiram 
Stokes. 

Byron  Baxter,  who  was  an  overgrown,  knock-kneed  youth 
of  nineteen,  with  long  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  advanced  to 
the  front  of  the  platform,  bowed,  and  then  suddenly  started 
back,  with  both  hands  extended  before  him,  in  an  attitude  of 
horror.  In  a  loud  voice,  he  commenced  to  recite : 

"  Oh,  take  the  maddening  bowl  away  1 

Remove  the  poisonous  cup ! 
My  soul  is  sick ;  its  burning  ray 
Hath  drunk  my  spirit  up. 

"  Take,  take  it  from  my  loathing  lip 

Ere  madness  fires  my  brain : 
Oh,  take  it  hence,  nor  let  me  sip 
Its  liquid  death  again  I" 

As  the   young  man  had  evidently  never  tasted  any  thing 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  239 

stronger  than  molasses-and-water,  the  expression  of  his  abhor- 
rence was  somewhat  artificial.  Nevertheless,  a  shudder  ran 
through  the  audience  at  the  vehemence  of  his  declamation, 
and  he  was  greeted  with  a  round  of  applause,  at  the  close. 

The  orator  of  the  day,  Mr.  Abiram  Stokes,  then  made  his 
appearance.  He  was  a  man  of  forty-five,  with  a  large,  hand- 
some head,  and  an  imposing  presence.  His  hair  and. eyes  were 
dark,  and  his  complexion  slightly  tinted  with  olive.  This  trait, 
with  his  small  hands  and  showy  teeth,  seemed  to  indicate  a 
mixture  of  Spanish  blood.  He  had  a  way  of  throwing  his 
head  forward,  so  as  to  let  a  large  lock  of  his  hair  fall  over  his 
forehead  with  a  picturesque  effect,  and  then  tossing  it  back  to 
its  place  with  a  reverse  motion.  His  voice  was  full  and  sono- 
rous ;  although,  to  a  practised  ear,  its  pathos,  in  passages  in- 
tended for  effect,  was  more  dramatic  than  real.  Few  of  his 
present  auditors,  however,  were  able  to  discriminate  in  this 
respect;  the  young  ladies,  especially,  were  in  raptures.  It 
was  rumored  that  his  early  life  had  been  very  wild  and  dissi- 
pated, and  he  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
brands  which  had  been  snatched  from  the  burning.  This  ru- 
mor preceded  him  wherever  he  went,  created  a  personal  inte- 
rest for  him,  in  advance,  and  added  to  the  effect  of  his  oratory. 

His  style  of  speaking,  nevertheless,  was  showy  and  specious. 
He  took  no  wide  range,  touched  but  slightly  on  the  practical 
features  of  the  subject,  and  indulged  sparingly  in  anecdotes 
and  illustrations.  None  of  the  latter  professed  to  be  drawn 
from  his  personal  experience :  his  hearers  might  make  what- 
ever inference  they  pleased,  he  knew  the  value  of  mystery  too 
well,  to  enlighten  them  further.  He  was  greatest  in  apostro- 
phes to  Water,  to  Reform,  to  Woman,  to  anything  that  per- 
mitted him,  according  to  his  own  expression,  "  to  soar."  This 
feature  of  his  orations  was  usually  very  effective,  the  first  time 
he  was  heard.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  introducing  some  of 
his  favorite  passages  on  every  occasion.  Woodbury,  who  was 
not  aware  of  this  trick,  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  natural 
warmth  and  eloquence  of  the  speaker's  language. 


240  HANNAH   THURSTON  I 

His  peroratioti  ran  something  in  this  wise  :  "  This,  the  purest 
and  most  beneficent  of  the  Virtues,  comes  not  to  achieve  her 
victory  in  battles  and  convulsions.  Soft  as  the  dews  of  heaven, 
her  white  feet  are  beautiful  upon  the  mountains,  bringing  glad 
tidings  of  great  joy!  Blessed  are  we  that  she  has  chosen  her 
abode  among  us,  and  that  she  has  selected  us  to  do  her  work ! 
No  other  part  of  the  world  was  fitted  to  receive  her.  She 
never  could  have  been  produced  by  the  mouldering  despotisms 
of  Europe,  where  the  instincts  of  Freedom  are  stifled  by  wine 
and  debauchery ;  the  Old  World  is  too  benighted  to  behold 
her  face.  Here  only — here  on  the  virgin  bosom  of  a  new  Con- 
tinent— here,  in  the  glorious  effulgence  of  the  setting  sun — 
here  only  could  she  be  born !  She  is  the  child  of  the  West — 
Temperance— and  before  her  face  the  demon  Alcohol  flees 
to  his  caverns  and  hides  himself  among  the  bones  of  his  vic- 
tims, while  Peace  sits  at  her  right  hand  and  Plenty  at  her  left!" 

"Beautiful!"  "splendid!"  was  whispered  through  the  au- 
dience, as  the  speaker  took  his  seat.  Miss  Carrie  Dil worth 
wiped  her  eyes  with  a  very  small  batiste  handkerchief,  and 
sighed  as  she  reflected  that  this  man,  her  beau-ideal  (which 
she  understood  to  mean  an  ideal  beau),  would  never  know  what 
an  appreciative  helpmeet  she  would  have  made  him. 

"  Oh,  Hannah !"  she  whispered,  leaning  forward,  to  Miss 
Thurston,  who  was  seated  on  the  next  plank,  "  did  you  ever 
hear  any  thing  so  beautiful  ?" 

"I  thought  it  fine,  the  first  time  I  heard  it,"  Hannah  re- 
plied, with  a  lack  of  enthusiasm  which  quite  astounded  the 
little  sempstress.  She  began  to  fear  she  had  made  a  mistake, 
when  the  sight  of  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  equally  in  tears, 
(and  no  wonder,  for  her  brother  Elisha  had  been  a  miserable 
drunkard),  somewhat  revived  her  confidence. 

"  Flashy,  but  not  bad  of  its  kind,"  said  Woodbury,  in  re- 
ply to  Mrs.  Waldo's  question. 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  It's  magnificent.  And  he's  such 
a  handsome  man !"  she  exclaimed.  "  But  I  see,  you  are  de- 
termined not  to  admire  any  of  them ;  you've  not  forgotten 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  241 

Griudle's  attack.  Or  else  you're  a  pess —  what's  the  name  of 
it  ?  Mr.  Waldo  explained  the  word  to  me  yesterday — pess  " — 

44 Oh,  a  pessimist?  Not  at  all,  Mrs.  Waldo.  -On  the  con- 
trary, I  am  almost  an  optimist." 

"  Well,  that's  just  as  bad — though  I  am  not  sure  I  know 
what  it  is.  Oh,  there's  Grindle  going  to  speak.  Now  you'll 
catch  it !" 

She  shook  her  hand  menacingly,  and  Woodbury,  much 
amused  and  not  a  little  curious  to  hear  the  speaker,  resumed 
his  position  against  the  tree. 

Mr.  Grindle,  who  carried  on  a  moderate  lumber  business  in 
Atauga  City,  neglected  no  opportunity  of  making  himself  heard 
in  public.  He  was  a  man  of  shallow  faculties,  but  profound 
conceit  of  himself,  and  would  have  preferred,  at  any  time,  to 
be  abused  rather  than  ignored.  His  naturally  fluent  speech 
had  been  cultivated  by  the  practice  of  years,  but  as  he  was 
neither  an  earnest  thinker  nor  a  close  reasoner,  and,  moreover, 
known  to  be  unscrupulous  in  the  statement  of  facts,  the  consider- 
ation which  he  enjoyed  as  a  speaker  would  soon  have  become 
exhausted,  but  for  the  boldness  and  indecency  of  his  personal 
attacks,  whereby  he  replenished  that  element  of  hot  water  in 
which  he  rejoiced.  Mr.  Campbell,  the  landlord  of  the  Ptolemy 
House,  had  several  times  threatened  him  with  personal  chas- 
tisement, and  he  only  escaped  by  avoiding  an  encounter  until 
the  landlord's  wrath  had  a  little  cooled.  He  was  so  accus- 
tomed to  insulting  epithets  that  they  never  produced  the  slight- 
est impression  upon  him. 

He  had  spoken  nearly  half  an  hour,  airing  a  quantity  of  sta- 
tistics, which  he  had  mostly  committed  to  memory — where 
that  failed,  he  supplied  the  figures  from  his  imagination — 
when  he  perceived  that  the  audience,  after  having  tasted  the 
spiced  meats  of  Mr.  Abiram  Stokes,  seemed  to  find  the  plain 
food  he  offered  them  rather  insipid.  But  he  had  still  the  re- 
source of  personality,  which  he  knew,  from,  long  experience,  is 
always  entertaining,  whether  or  not  the  hearers  approve  of  it. 
The  transition  was  easily  made.  "Looking  at  this  terrible 
11 


242  HAXNAH  THUKSTON: 

array  of  facts,"  said  he,  "  how  can  any  man,  who  is  worthy  the 
name  of  a  human  being,  dare  to  oppose  the  doctrines  of  Tem- 
perance ?  Hew  dare  any  man  suppose  that  his  own  miserable 
personal  indulgences  are  of  more  consequence  than  the  moral 
salvation  of  his  fellow-creatures  ?  Yet  there  are  such  men — 
not  poor,  ignorant,  deluded  creatures,  who  know  no  better, 
and  are  entitled  to  some  allowances — but  men  who  are  rich, 
who  appear  to  be  educated,  and  who  claim  to  be  highly  moral 
and  respectable.  What  are  we  to  think  of  those  men  ?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  glanced  up  at  Woodbury  with  a  look  which 
said  :  "  Now  it's  coming !" 

"  Let  it  come  !"  his  look  replied. 

"  They  think,  perhaps,"  the  speaker  continued,  "  that  there 
are  different  laws  of  morality  for  different  climates — that  they 
can  bring  here  among  us  the  detestable  practices  of  heathen 
races,  which  we  are  trying  to  root  out !  I  tell  such,  they  had 
better  go  back,  and  let  their  unhappy  slaves  hand  them  the 
hookah,  filled  with  its  intoxicating  draught,  or  steady  their 
tottering  steps  when  the  fumes  of  sherbet  have  mounted  to 
their  brains !" 

Many  persons  in  the  assembly  knew  who  was  meant,  and 
as  Woodbury's  position  made  him  easily  distinguished,  they 
watched  him  with  curiosity  as  the  speaker  proceeded.  He 
leaned  against  the  tree,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  an  amused 
half-smile  on  his  face,  until  the  foregoing  climax  was  reached, 
when,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  spectators,  he  burst  into  an 
uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter. 

Mr.  Grindle,  too,  had  discovered  his  victim,  and  occasionally 
darted  a  side  look  at  him,  calculating  how  far  he  might  carry 
the  attack  with  safety  to  himself.  Woodbury's  sudden  and 
violent  merriment  encouraged  while  it  disconcerted  him :  there 
was,  at  least,  nothing  to  be  feared,  and  he  might  go  on. 

"Yes,  I  repeat  it,"  he  continued;  "whatever  name  may  be 
given  to  the  beverage,  we  are  not  to  be  cheated.  Such  men 
may  drink  their  sherbet,  or  their  Heidsick ;  they  may  call  their 
drinks  by  respectable  names,  and  the  demon  of  Alcohol  laughs 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  243 

as  he  claims  them  for  his  own.  St.  Paul  says  '  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  is  a  gentleman :'  beware,  beware,  my  friends,  lest  the 
accursed  poison,  which  is  harmless  to  you  under  its  vulgar 
names,  should  beguile  you  with  an  aristocratic  title !" 

*'  Will  the  speaker  allow  me  to  make  a  remark  ?" 

Woodbury,  controlling  his  laughter  with  some  difficulty, 
straightened  himself  from  his  leaning  position  against  the  tree, 
and,  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  spoke.  His  voice, 
not  loud,  but  very  clear,  was  distinctly  heard  all  over  the 
crowd,  and  there  was  a  general  rustling  sound,  as  hundreds  of 
heads  turned  towards  him.  Mr.  Grindle  involuntarily  paused 
in  his  speech,  but  made  no  reply. 

"I  will  only  interrupt  the  proceedings  for  a  moment,"  Wood- 
bury  resumed,  in  a  cool,  steady  tone,  amidst  the  perfect  silence 
of  the  multitude — "  in  order  to  make  an  explanation.  I  will 
not  wrong  the  speaker  by  supposing  that  his  words  have  a 
personal  application  to  myself;  because  that  would  be  charging 
him  with  advocating  truth  by  means  of  falsehood,  and  defend- 
ing morality  by  the  weapons  of  ignorance  and  insult.  But 
I  know  the  lands  of  which  he  speaks  and  the  habits  of  their 
people.  So  far  from  drunkenness  being  a  '  detestable  heathen 
habit'  of  theirs,  it  is  really  we  who  should  go  to  them  to  learn 
temperance.  I  must  confess,  also,  my  great  surprise  at  hearing 
the  speaker's  violent  denunciation  of  the  use  of  sherbet,  after 
seeing  that  it  is  openly  sold,  to-day,  in  this  grove — after  hav- 
ing, with  my  own  eyes,  observed  the  speaker,  himself,  drink 
a  large  glass  of  it  with  evident  satisfaction." 

There  was  a  sudden  movement,  mixed  here  and  there  with 
laughter,  among  the  audience.  Mr.  Grindle  cried  out,  in  a 
hoarse,  excited  voice:  "The  charge  is  false!  I  never  use  in- 
toxicating beverages !" 

"I  made  no  such  charge,"  said  Woodbury,  calmly,  "but  it 
may  interest  the  audience  to  know  that  sherbet  is  simply  the 
Arabic  name  for  lemonade." 

The  laughter  was  universal,  Mr.  Grindle  excepted. 

"The  speaker,  also,"  he  continued,  "mentioned  the  intoxi- 


244  HANNAH  THTJKSTON: 

eating  beverage  of  the  hookah.  As  the  hookah  is  a  pipe,  in 
which  the  smoke  of  the  tobacco  passes  through  water  before 
reaching  the  mouth,  it  may  be  considered  a  less  dangerous 
beverage  than  the  clay-pipe  of  the  Irish  laborer.  I  beg  pardon 
of  the  meeting  for  my  interruption." 

The  laughter  was  renewed,  more  heartily  than  before,  and 
for  a  minute  after  Woodbury  ceased  the  tumult  was  so  great 
that  Mr.  Grindle  could  not  be  heard.  To  add  to  the  confusion, 
the  leader  of  the  Ptolemy  band,  taking  the  noise  as  a  sign  that 
the  Convention  had  adjourned,  struck  up  "  Malbrook,"  which 
air,  unfortunately,  was  known  in  the  neighborhood  by  the  less 
classical  title  of  u  We  won't  go  home  till  morning." 

The  other  members  of  the  Committee,  on  the  platform,  pri- 
vately begged  Mr.  Grindle  to  take  his  seat  and  allow  them  to 
introduce  a  new  orator ;  but  he  persisted  in  speaking  for  an- 
other quarter  of  an  hour,  to  show  that  he  was  not  discomfited. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  audience,  nevertheless,  secretly  re- 
joiced at  the  lesson  he  had  received,  and  the  remainder  of  his 
speech  was  not  heard  with  much  attention.  Woodbury,  to 
escape  the  curious  gaze  of  the  multitude,  took  a  narrow  and 
uncomfortable  seat  on  the  end  of  the  plank,  beside  Mrs.  Waldo. 
He  was  thenceforth,  very  much  against  his  will,  an  object  of 
great  respect  to  the  rowdies  of  Ptolemy,  who  identified  him 
with  the  opposite  cause. 

There  was  another  song,  commencing : 

"  The  wine  that  all  are  praising 
Is  not  the  drink  for  me, 
But  there's  a  spring  in  yonder  glen, 
Whose  waters  flow  for  Temperance  men,"  etc., 

which  was  likewise  sung  in  chorus.  Then  succeeded  other 
speakers,  of  less  note,  to  a  gradually  diminishing  circle  of  hear- 
ers. The  farmers  and  their  wives  strayed  off  to  gossip  with 
acquaintances  on  the  edges  of  the  grove ;  baskets  of  provisions 
were  opened  and  the  contents  shared,  and  the  stalls  of  cake 
and  sarsaparilla  suds  experienced  a  reflux  of  custom.  As  the 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN  LIFE.  245 

young  men  were  not  Lord  Byrons,  the  young  ladies  did  not 
scruple  to  eat  in  their  presence,  and  flirtations  were  carried  on 
with  a  chicken-bone  in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  bread  in  the 
other.  The  sun  threw  softer  and  slanter  lights  over  the  beau- 
tiful picture  of  the  valley,  and,  gradually  creeping  below  the 
boughs,  shot  into  the  faces  of  those  who  were  still  seated  in 
front  of  the  platform.  It  was  time  to  close  the  performances 
of  the  day,  and  they  were  accordingly  terminated  with  a  third 
song,  the  refrain  of  which  was  : 

11  Oh,  for  the  cause  is  rolling  on,  rolling  on,  rolling  on, 
Over  the  darkened  land." 

Woodbury  and  the  Waldos,  to  avoid  the  dust  of  the  road, 
walked  back  to  Ptolemy  by  a  pleasant  path  across  the  fields. 
Ere  long  they  overtook  Hannah  Thurston  and  Miss  Dilworth. 
Mr.  Grindle  was,  of  course,  the  theme  of  conversation. 

"Wasn't  he  rightly  served,  Hannah?"  Mrs.  Waldo  ex- 
claimed, with  enthusiasm.  Woodbury  was  fast  assuming 
heroic  proportions,  in  her  mind. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Woodbury  was  entirely  justifiable  in  his  inter- 
ruption," Miss  Thurston  answered,  "  and  yet  I  almost  wish 
that  it  had  not  occurred." 

"  So  do  I !"  Woodbury  exclaimed. 

"Well — you  two  are  queer  people!"  was  Mrs.  Waldo'a 
imazed  remark. 


246  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

IK   WHICH   THERE   IS   BOTH   ATTRACTION   AND   REPULSION. 

HANNAH  THURSTON'S  remark  remained  in  Woodbury's  ears 
long  after  it  was  uttered.  His  momentary  triumph  over,  he 
began  to  regret  having  obeyed  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 
Mr.  Grindle's  discomfiture  had  been  too  cheaply  purchased ; 
he  was  game  of  a  sort  too  small  and  mean  for  a  man  of  refined 
instincts  to  notice  even  by  a  look.  His  own  interruption,  cool 
and  careless  as  he  felt  it  to  have  been,  nevertheless  betrayed 
an  acknowledgment  that  he  had  understood  the  speaker's  in- 
sinuation ;  and,  by  a  natural  inference,  that  he  was  sufficiently 
sensitive  to  repel  it.  Mr.  Grindle  was  acute  enough  to  make 
this  inference,  and  it  was  a  great  consolation  to  him,  in  his 
own  overthrow,  to  think  that  he  had  stung  his  adversary. 

Woodbury,  however,  forgot  his  self-blame  in  the  grateful 
surprise  of  hearing  its  echo  from  Miss  Thurston's  lips.  Her 
remark  betrayed  a  delicacy  of  perception  which  he  had  not 
expected — more  than  this,  indeed,  it  betrayed  a  consideration 
for  his  character  as  a  gentleman,  which  she  could  not  have  felt, 
had  she  not,  in  imagination,  placed  herself  in  his  stead.  He 
knew  that  a  refined  nature  must  be  born  so ;  it  can  only  be 
partially  imitated  by  assiduous  social  study  ;  and  his  previous 
intercourse  with  Miss  Thurston  had  not  prepared  him  to  find 
her  instincts  so  true.  He  looked  at  her,  as  she  walked  beside 
him,  with  a  renewed  feeling  of  interest.  Her  slender  figure 
moved  along  the  grassy  path  with  a  free,  elastic  step.  She 
wore  a  dress  of  plain  white  muslin,  with  wide  sleeves,  and  a 
knot  of  pearl-colored  ribbon  at  the  throat.  Her  parasol,  and 
the  trimming  of  her  hat,  were  of  the  same  quiet  color;  the 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  247 

only  ornament  she  wore  was  a  cluster  of  little  pink  flowers  in 
the  latter.  The  excitement  of  the  occasion,  or  the  act  of 
walking,  had  brought  a  soft  tinge  to  her  usually  pale  cheek, 
and  as  her  eyes  dropped  to  avoid  the  level  light  of  the  sun, 
Woodbury  noticed  how  long  and  dark  were  the  lashes  that 
fringed  her  lids.  "  At  eighteen  she  must  have  been  lovely," 
he  said  to  himself,  "but,  even  then,  her  expression  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  virginly  pure  and  sweet,  than  new." 

He  turned  away,  repressing  a*  sigh.  How  one  delusion 
could  spoil  a  noble  woman ! 

Before  descending  the  last  slope  to  the  village,  they  paused, 
involuntarily,  to  contemplate  the  evening  landscape.  The  sun 
was  just  dipping  behind  the  western  hill,  and  a  portion  oi 
Ptolemy  lay  in  shadow,  while  the  light,  streaming  through  th 
gap  made  by  a  lateral  glen,  poured  its  dusty  gold  over  the 
distant  elms  of  Roaring  Brook,  and  caused  the  mansion  of 
Lakeside  to  sparkle  like  a  star  against  its  background  of  firs 
Far  down  the  lake  flashed  the  sail  of  a  pleasure-boat,  and  the 
sinking  western  shore  melted  into  a  vapory  purple  along  the 
dim  horizon.  The  strains  of  the  band  still  reached  them  from 
the  grove,  but  softened  to  the  airy,  fluctuating  sweetness  of 
an  JEolian  harp. 

"  Our  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places,"  said  Mr.  Waldo, 
looking  from  hill  to  hill  with  a  cheerful  content  on  his  face. 

"Every  part  of  the  earth  has  its  moments  of  beauty,  I 
think,"  Woodbury  replied :  "  but  Ptolemy  is  certainly  a 
favored  spot.  If  the  people  only  knew  it.  I  wonder  whether 
happiness  is  not  a  faculty,  or  a  peculiarity  of  temperament, 
quite  independent  of  the  conditions  of  one's  life  ?" 

"  That  depends  on  what  you  call  happiness,"  Mrs.  Waldo 
rejoined.  "  Come,  now,  let  us  each  define  it,  and  see  how  we 
shall  agree.  My  idea  is,  it's  in  making  the  best  of  every 
thing." 

"ISTo,  it's  finding  a  congenial  spirit!"  cried  Miss  Carrie. 

"  You  forget  the  assurance  of  Grace,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"Fairly  caught,  Mrs.  Waldo!     You  are  no  better  than  I: 


248  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

you  confess  yourself  an  optimist!"  Woodbury  merrily  ex- 
claimed. "So  far,  you  are  right — but,  unfortunately,  there 
are  some  things  we  cannot  make  the  best  of." 

"  We  can  always  do  our  duty,  for  it  is  proportioned  to  our 
power,"  said  Hannah  Thurston. 

"  If  we  know  exactly  what  it  is." 

"  Why  should  we  not  know  ?"  she  asked,  turning  quickly 
towards  him. 

"  Because  the  simple  desire  to  know  is  not  enough,  although 
I  trust  God  gives  us  some  credit  for  it.  How  much  of  Truth 
is  there,  that  we  imperfectly  grasp  !  How  much  is  there,  also, 
that  we  shrink  from  knowing !" 

"Shrink  from  Truth!" 

"  Yes,  since  we  are  human,  and  our  nearest  likeness  to  God 
is  a  compassionate  tenderness  for  our  fellow-men.  Does  not 
the  knowledge  of  a  vice  in  a  dear  friend  give  us  pain  ?  Do 
we  not  cling,  most  desperately,  to  our  own  cherished  opinions, 
at  the  moment  when  we  begin  to  suspect  they  are  untenable  ? 
No :  we  are  not  strong  enough,  nor  stony-hearted  enough,  to 
do  without  illusions." 

"  Yet  you  would  convince  me  of  mine !"  Hannah  Thurston 
exclaimed,  with  a  shade  of  bitterness  in  the  tone  of  her  voice. 
The  next  moment  she  felt  a  pang  of  self-rebuke  at  having 
spoken,  and  the  color  rose  to  her  face.  The  application  she 
had  made  of  his  words,  was  uncalled-for.  He  must  not  thus  be 
met.  He  was  so  impregnable  in  his  calmness,  and  in  the  con- 
clusions drawn  from  his  ripe  experience  of  life !  Her  own 
faith  tottered  whenever  their  minds  came  in  contact,  yet  if  she 
gave  up  it,  how  could  she  be  certain,  any  longer,  what  was 
Truth  ?  He  was  not  a  hard  materialist ;  he  possessed  fancy, 
and  feeling,  and  innate  reverence;  but  his  approach  seemed  to 
chill  her  enthusiasm  and  benumb  the  free  action  of  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  he  answered,  with  kindly  seriousness,  "  I  would 
not  consciously  destroy  a  single  innocent  illusion.  There  are 
even  forms  of  Error  which  are  only  rendered  worse  by  antag- 
onism. I  have  no  idea  of  assailing  all  views  that  do  not  bar- 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  249 

monize  with  my  own.  I  am  but  one  among  many  millions, 
and  my  aim  is  to  understand  Life,  not  forcibly  change  its 
character." 

Walking  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others,  as  they  spoke,  the 
conversation  was  interrupted  by  their  arrival  in  Ptolemy. 
Woodbury  declined  an  invitation  to  take  tea  with  the  Waldos, 
and  drove  home  with  Bute,  in  the  'splendor  of  sunset.  The 
latter  took  advantage  of  the  first  opportunity  to  describe  to 
Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  the  confusion  which  his  master  had 
inflicted  on  Mr.  Grindle. 

"  And  sarved  him  right,  too,"  said  she,  with  a  grim  satisfac- 
tion. "  To  think  o'  him  turnin'  up  his  nose  at  her  best  Sherry, 
and  callin'  it  pizon  !" 

She  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  her  approbation  to 
Woodbury,  as  she  prepared  his  tea.  Her  manner,  however, 
made  it  seem  very  much  like  a  reproof.  "  I've  heerd,  Sir," 
she  remarked,  with  a  rigid  face,  "  that  you've  been  speakin'.  I 
s'pose  you'll  be  goin'  to  the  Legislatur',  next." 

Woodbury  smiled.     "  111  news  travels  fast,"  he  said. 

"  'T'a'n't  ill,  as  I  can  see.  She  wouldn't  ha'  thought  so, 
nuther.  Though,  to  be  sure,  sich  fellers  didn't  come  here,  in 
her  time." 

"  He  will  not  come  again,  Mrs.  Babb." 

"I'd  like  to  see  him  try  it!"  With  which  words  Mrs. 
Babb  slapped  down  the  lid  of  the  teapot,  into  which  she  had 
been  looking,  with  a  sound  like  the  discharge  of  a  pocket-pistol. 

Woodbury  went  into  the  library,  wheeled  his  arm-chair  to 
the  open  window,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  watched  the  risen  moon 
brighten  against  the  yielding  twilight.  The  figure  of  Hannah 
Thurston,  in  her  white  dress,  with  the  pearl-colored  ribbon  at 
her  throat,  with  the  long  lashes  falling  over  her  dark-gray  eyes, 
the  flush  on  her  cheek,  and  the  earnest  sweetness  of  her  lips, 
rose  before  him  through  the  rings  of  smoke,  in  the  luminous 
dusk  of  the  evening.  A  persistent  fate  seemed  to  throw  them 
together,  only  to  show  him  how  near  they  might  have  been, 
how  far  apart  they  really  were.  When  he  recalled  her  cour- 
11* 


250  HAIO^AH  THUKSTON: 


age  and  self-possession  during  the  scene  in  the  grove  above  the 
cataract,  and  the  still  greater  courage  which  led  her  to  Tiberius, 
daring  reproach  in  order  to  rescue  a  deluded  creature  from  im- 
pending ruin,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  for  no  other  living 
woman  did  he  feel  equal  respect.  He  bowed  down  in  rever- 
ence before  that  highest  purity  which  is  unconscious  of  what 
it  ventures,  and  an  anxious  interest  arose  in  his  heart  as  he  re- 
cognized the  dangers  into  which  it  might  lead  her.  He  felt 
that  she  was  capable  of  understanding  him  ;  that  she  possessed 
the  finer  instincts  which  constituted  what  was  best  in  his  own 
nature  ;  that  she  yielded  him,  also,  a  certain  respect  :  but  it 
was  equally  evident  that  her  mind  was  unnecessarily  alert  and 
suspicious  in  his  presence.  She  assumed  a  constant  attitude 
of  defence,  when  no  attack  was  intended.  He  seemed  to  ex- 
ercise an  unconscious  repellant  force  towards  her,  the  secret  of 
which  he  suspected  must  be  found  in  herself  —  in  the  tenacity 
with  which  she  held  to  her  peculiar  views,  and  a  feminine  im- 
patience of  contrary  opinions. 

But,  as  he  mused,  his  fancies  still  came  back  to  that  one  pic- 
ture —  the  pure  Madonna  face,  with  its  downcast  eyes,  touched 
with  the  mellow  glory  of  the  sunset.  A  noiseless  breath  of 
the  night  brought  to  his  window  the  creamy  odor  of  the  locust 
blossoms,  and  lured  forth  the  Persian  dreams  of  the  roses. 
The  moonlight  silver  on  the  leaves  —  the  pearly  obscurity  of 
the  sky  —  the  uncertain  murmurs  of  the  air  —  combined  to  steep 
his  senses  in  a  sweet,  semi-voluptuous  trance.  He  was  too 
truly  and  completely  man  not  to  know  what  was  lacking  to 
his  life.  He  was  accustomed  to  control  passion  because  he 
had  learned  its  symptoms,  but  this  return  of  the  fever  of  youth 
was  now  welcome,  with  all  its  pain. 

Towards  midnight,  he  started  suddenly  and  closed  the  win- 
dow. "  My  God  !"  he  exclaimed,  aloud  ;  "  she  in  my  arms  ! 
her  lips  on  mine  !  What  was  I  thinking  of?  Pshaw  —  a  strong- 
minded  woman!  Well  —  the  very  strongest-minded  of  them 
all  is  still  very  far  from  being  a  man."  With  which  consoling 
excuse  for  the  absurdity  of  his  thoughts,  he  went  to  bed. 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  251 


The  next  morning  he  spent  an  hour  in  a  careful  inspe  ^ti 
of  the  library,  and,  after  hesitating  between  a  ponderous  trans- 
lation of  the  "  Maha-bharata"  and  Lane's  "  Arabian  Nights," 
finally  replaced  them  both,  and  took  down  Jean  Paul's  "  Sie- 
benkas  "  and  "  Walt  and  Vult."  After  the  early  Sunday  din- 
ner, he  put  the  volumes  into  his  pockets,  and,  mounting  L's 
horse,  rode  to  Ptolemy. 

Hannah  Thurston  had  brought  »  chair  into  the  open  air,  and 
seated  herself  on  the  shady  side  of  the  cottage.  The  afternoon 
was  semi-clouded  and  mildly  breezy,  and  she  evidently  found 
the  shifting  play  of  sun  and  shade  upon  the  eastern  hill  better 
reading  than  the  book  in  her  hand,  for  the  latter  was  closed. 
She  recognized  Woodbury  as  he  came  into  the  street  a  little 
distance  below,  and  watched  the  motion  of  his  horse's  legs 
under  the  boughs  of  the  balsam-firs,  which  hid  the  rider  from 
sight.  To  her  surprise,  the  horse  stopped,  opposite  the  cot- 
tage-door :  she  rose,  laid  down  her  book,  and  went  forward  to 
meet  her  visitor,  who,  by  this  time,  had  entered  -the  gate. 

After  a  frank  and  unembarrassed  greeting,  she  said  :  "  My 
mother  is  asleep,  and  her  health  is  so  frail  that  I  am  very  care- 
ful not  to  disturb  her  rest.  Will  you  take  a  seat,  here,  in  the 
shade  ?" 

She  then  withdrew  for  a  moment,  in  order  to  bring  a  second 
chair.  In  the  mean  time,  Woodbury  had  picked  up  her  book  : 
it  was  Bettine's  Correspondence  with  Gilnderode.  "  I  am  glad," 
said  he,  looking  up  at  her  approach,  "that  I  was  not  wrong  in 
my  selection." 

She  answered  his  look  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 

"  I  am  going  away,  in  a  few  days,  for  a  summer  excursion," 
he  added,  by  way  of  explanation,  taking  the  books  from  his 
pockets,  "  and  in  looking  over  my  library  this  morning  I  found 
two  works,  which,  it  occurred  to  me,  you  might  like  to  read. 
The  sight  of  this  volume  convinces  me  that  I  have  judged 
correctly  :  they  are  also  translations  from  the  German." 

Hannah  Thurston's  eyes  brightened  as  she  took  the  books, 
and  looked  at  their  title-pages.  "  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  I 


252  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

thank  you  very  much !  I  have  long  wished  to  see  these  works  : 
Lydia  Maria  Child  speaks  yery  highly  of  them." 

44  Who  is  Lydia  Maria  Child  ?" 

She  looked  at  him,  almost  in  dismay.  "  Have  you  never 
read  her  '  Letters  from  New  York  ?' "  she  asked.  "  I  do  not 
suppose  you  are  a  subscriber  to  the  Slavery  Annihilator, 
which  she  edits,  but  these  letters  have  been  collected  and  pub- 
lished." 

"  Are  they  doctrinal  ?" 

"  Perhaps  you  would  call  them  so.  She  has  a  generous  sym- 
pathy with  all  Progress ;  yet  her  letters  are  mostly  descriptive. 
I  would  offer  them  to  you,  if  I  were  sure  that  you  would  read 
them  willingly — not  as  a  task  thrust  upon  you." 

"  You  would  oblige  me,"  said  Woodbury,  cordially.  "  I 
am  not  unwilling  to  hear  new  views,  especially  when  they  are 
eloquently  presented.  Anna  Maria  Child,  I  presume,  is  an 
advocate  of  Woman's  Rights  ?" 

"  You  will,  at  least,  find  very  little  of  such  advocacy  in  her 
letters." 

"  And  if  I  should  ?"  he  asked.  "  Do  not  confound  me,  Miss 
Thurston,  with  the  multitude  who  stand  in  hostile  opposition 
to  your  theory.  I  am  very  willing  that  it  should  be  freely  dis- 
cussed, because  attention  may  thereby  be.  drawn  to  many  real 
wrongs.  Besides,  in  the  long  run,  the  practice  of  the  human 
race  is  sensible  and  just,  and  nothing  can  be  permanently 
adopted  which  is  not  very  near  the  truth." 

"'JReal  wrongs  !'"  she  repeated  ;  "  yes,  I  suppose  our  wrongs 
are  generally  considered  imaginary.  It  is  a  convenient  way 
of  disposing  of  them." 

"  Is  that  charge  entirely  fair  ?" 

She  colored  slightly.  Is  the  man's  nature  flint  or  iron,  she 
thought,  that  his  mind  is  so  equably  clear  and  cold  ?  Would 
not  antagonism  rouse  him  into  warmth,  imparting  an  answer- 
ing warmth  to  her  thoughts,  which  his  unimpassioned  manner 
chilled  to  death  ?  Then  she  remembered  his  contagious  gay- 
ety  during  the  walk  to  Ptolemy,  his  terrible  indignation  in  the 
inn  at  Tiberius,  and  felt  that  she  had  done  hiua  wrong. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  258 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,"  she  answered,  presently.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  apply  the  charge  to  you,  Mr.  Woodbury.  I  was 
thinking  of  the  prejudices  we  are  obliged  to  encounter.  We 
present  what  we  feel  to  be  serious  truths  in  relation  to  our  sex, 
and  they  are  thrown  aside  with  a  contemptuous  indifference, 
which  wounds  us  more  than  the  harshest  opposition,  because 
it  implies  a  disbelief  in  our  capacity  to  think  for  ourselves.  You 
must  know  that  the  word  '  feminine,'  applied  to  a  man,  is  the 
greatest  reproach — that  the  phrase  '  a  woman's  idea'  is  never 
uttered  but  as  a  condemnation." 

"  I  have  not  looked  at  the  subject  from  your  point  of  view," 
said  Woodbury,  with  an  expressed  respect  in  his  manner, 
"but  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  you  have  reason  to  feel 
aggrieved.  You  must  remember,  however,  that  the  reproach 
is  not  all  on  one  side.  You  women  are  just  as  ready  to  con- 
demn masculine  habits  and  ideas  in  your  own  sex.  Among 
children  a  molly-coddle  is  no  worse  than  a  tomboy.  The  fact, 
after  all,  does  not  originate  in  any  natural  hostility  or  contempt, 
on  either  side,  but  simply  from  an  instinctive  knowledge  of 
the  distinctions  of  sex,  in  temperament,  in  habits,  and  in 
mind." 

"  In  mind  ?"  Hannah  Thurston  asked,  with  unusual  calmness. 
"  Then  you  think  that  minds,  too,  are  male  and  female  ?" 

"  That  there  are  general  distinctions,  certainly.  The  exact 
boundaries  between  them,  however,  are  not  so  easily  to  be 
defined.  But  there  is  a  radical  difference  in  the  texture,  and 
hence  in  the  action  of  the  two.  Do  you  not  always  instinctive- 
ly feel,  in  reading  a  book,  whether  the  author  is  a  man  or  a 
woman  ?  Can  you  name  any  important  work  which  might 
have  been  written,  indifferently,  by  either?" 

Miss  Thurston  reflected  a  while,  and  then  suggested  :  "  Mrs. 
Somerville's  *  Physical  Geography  ?'  " 

"  Fairly  answered,"  said  Woodbury,  smiling.  "  I  will  not 
reject  the  instance.  I  will  even  admit  that  a  woman  might 
write  a  treatise  on  algebraic  equations,  in  which  there  should 
be  no  sign  of  her  sex.  Still,  this  would  not  affect  the  main 


254  HANNAH   THUKSTON  .* 

fact,  which  I  think  you  will  recognize  upon  reflection.  T  admit 
the  greatness  of  the  immortal  women  of  History.  Nay,  more : 
I  claim  that  men  are  not  only  willing,  without  the  least  touch 
of  jealousy,  to  acknowledge  genius  in  Woman,  but  are  always 
the  first  to  recognize  and  respect  it.  What  female  poet  has 
selected  for  her  subject  that  '  whitest  lily  on  the  shield  of 
France,'  the  Maid  of  Orleans  ?  But  Schiller  and  Southey  have 
not  forgotten  her.  How  rare  it  is,  to  see  one  of  these  famous 
women  eulogized  by  a  woman  !  The  principal  advocate  of 
your  cause — what  is  her  name? — Bessie  Stryker,  would  be 
treated  with  more  fairness  and  consideration  by  men  than  by 
those  of  her  own  sex  who  are  opposed  to  her  views." 

"Yes,  that  is  it,"  she  answered,  sadly ;  "we  are  dependent 
on  men,  and  fear  to  offend  them/' 

"This  much,  at  least,  seems  to  be  true,"  said  he,  "  that  a  sense 
of  reliance  on  the  one  hand  and  protection  on  the  other  consti- 
tutes a  firmer  and  tenderer  form  of  union  than  if  the  natures 
were  evenly  balanced.  It  is  not  a  question  of  superiority, 
but  of  radical  and  necessary  difference  of  nature.  Woman 
is  too  finely  organized  for  the  hard,  coarse  business  of  the 
world,  and  it  is  for  her  own  sake  that  man  desires  to  save  her 
from  it.  He  stands  between  her  and  human  nature  in  the 
rough." 

"  But  could  she  not  refine  it  by  her  presence  ?" 

"  Never — never !"  exclaimed  Woodbury.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, it  would  drag  her  down  to  unutterable  depths.  If 
woman  had  the  right  of  suffrage  there  would  be  less  swearing 
among  the  rowdies  at  the  polls,  the  first  time  they  voted,  but 
at  the  end  of  five  years  both  sexes  would  swear  together. 
That  is" — he  added,  seeing  the  shocked  expression  of  Hannal 
Thurston's  face, — "supposing  them  to  be  equally  implicated  in 
the  present  machinery  of  politics.  The  first  time  a  female 
candidate  went  into  a  bar-room  to  canvass  for  votes,  she  would 
see  the  inmates  on  their  best  behavior ;  but  this  could  not  last 
long.  She  would  soon  either  be  driven  from  the  field,  or 
brought  down  to  the  same  level.  Nay,  she  would  go  below 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  255 

it,  for  the  rudest  woman  would  be  injured  by  associations 
through  which  the  most  refined  man  might  pass  unharmed." 

The  tone  of  grave  conviction  in  his  words  produced  a  strong 
though  painful  impression  upon  his  hearer.  She  had  heard 
very  nearly  the  same  things  said,  in  debate,  but  they  were 
always  met  and  apparently  overcome  by  the  millennial  assuran- 
ces of  her  friends — by  their  firm  belief  in  the  possible  perfec- 
tion of  human  nature,  an  illusion  which  she  was  too  ready  to 
accept.  A  share  in  all  the  special  avocations  of  Man,  she  had 
believed,  would  result  in  his  elevation,  not  in  the  debasement 
of  Woman. 

"  I  should  not  expect  a  sudden  change,"  she  said,  at  last, 
"  but  might  not  men  be  gradually  redeemed  from  their  low 
tastes  and  habits  ?  Might  not  each  sex  learn  from  the  other 
only  what  is  best  and  noblest  in  it  ?  It  would  be  very  sad  if 
all  hope  for  the  future  must  be  taken  away  from  us." 

"  All  hope  ?  No  !"  said  Woodbury,  rising  from  his  seat. 
"The  human  race  is  improving,  and  will  continue  to  improve. 
Better  hope  too  much  than  not  at  all.  But  between  the  na- 
tures of  the  sexes  there  is  a  gulf  as  wide  as  all  time.  The  laws 
by  which  each  is  governed  are  not  altogether  arbitrary ;  they 
have  grown,  age  after  age,  out  of  that  difference  in  mental  and 
moral  development  of  which  I  spoke,  and  which — pardon  me 
— you  seem  to  overlook.  Whatever  is,  is  not  always  right,  but 
you  may  be  sure  there  is  no  permanent  and  universal  rela- 
tion founded  on  error.  You  would  banish  profanity,  excesses, 
brute  force  from  among  men,  would  you  not  ?  Have  you  -ever 
reflected  that  these  things  are  distorted  forms  of  that  energy 
which  has  conquered  the  world?  Mountains  are  not  torn 
down,  rivers  bridged,  wildernesses  subdued,  cities  built,  states 
founded,  and  eternal  dikes  raised  against  barbarism,  by  the 
eaters  of  vegetables  and  the  drinkers  of  water !  Every  man  who 
is  worth  the  name  possesses  something  of  the  coarse,  original 
fibre  of  the  race:  he  lacks,  by  a  wise  provision  of  Providence, 
that  finer  protecting  instinct  which  holds  woman  back  from 
the  rude,  material  aspects  of  human  nature.  He  knows  and 


256  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

recognizes  as  inevitable  facts,  many  things,  of  which  she  does 
not  even  suspect  the  existence.  Therefore,  Miss  Thurston, 
when  you  apply  to  men  the  aspirations  of  progress  which  you 
have  formed  as  a  woman,  you  must  expect  to  be  disappointed. 
Pardon  me  for  speaking  so  plainly,  in  opposition  to  views 
which  I  know  you  must  cherish  with  some  tenderness.  I 
have,  at  least,  not  been  guilty  of  the  offence  which  you 
charged  upon'my  sex." 

"No,"  she  answered,  "you  have  been  frank,  Mr.  Wood- 
bury,  and  I  know  that  you  are  sincere.  But  may  not  your 
views  be  still  somewhat  colored  by  the  old  prejudice  ?" 

She  blushed,  the  moment  after  she  spoke.  She  had  endeav- 
ored to  moderate  her  expressions,  yet  her  words  sounded 
harsh  and  offensive. 

But  Woodbury  smiled  as  he  answered :  "  If  it  be  so,  why 
should  old  prejudices  be  worse  than  new  ones  2  A  prejudice 
is  a  weed  that  shoots  up  over  night.  It  don't  take  two  years 
to  blossom,  like  this  foxglove." 

He  broke  off  one  of  the  long  purple  bells,  and  stuck  it  in  the 
button-hole  of  his  coat. 

"  I  like  what  slowly  matures,  and  lasts  long,"  said  he. 

Hannah  Thurston  repeated  some  words  of  thanks  for  the 
books,  as  he  gave  her  his  hand.  From  vb.e  shade  of  the  fir  she 
wratched  him  mount  and  ride  into  the  »rjllage.  "He  will  prob- 
ably take  tea  with  the  Waldos,"  she  (.nought :  "  I  shall  stay  at 
home." 

She  resumed  her  seat,  mechanically  taking  up  the  volumes 
he  had  left,  but  did  not  open  them.  His  words  still  lingered 
in  her  mind,  with  a  strange,  disturbing  effect.  She  felt  that 
he  exercised  an  influence  over  her  which  she  was  not  able  sat- 
isfactorily to  analyze.  The  calmness  of  his  utterance,  the  ripe- 
ness of  his  opinions,  the  fairness  of  his  judgment,  attracted 
her :  she  knew  no  man  who  compelled  an  equal  respect :  yet 
there  seemed  to  be  very  little  in  common  between  them.  She 
never  met  him  without  a  painful  doubt  of  herself  being  awa- 
kened, which  lasted  long  after  his  departure.  She  determined, 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  257 

again  and  again,  to  avoid  these  mental  encounters,  but  some 
secret  force  irresistibly  led  her  to  speak.  She  felt,  in  her  in- 
most soul,  the  first  lifting  of  a  current,  which,  if  it  rose,  would 
carry  her,  she  knew  not  where.  A  weird,  dangerous  power 
in  his  nature  seemed  to  strike  at  the  very  props  on  which  her 
life  rested.  With  a  sensation,  almost  of  despair,  she  whis- 
pered to  herself:  "I  will  see  him  no  more." 

Woodbary,  riding  down  the  street,  shook  his  head,  and 
thought,  as  he  unnecessarily  pricked  his  horse  with  the  spur ; 
"  I  fear  she  is  incorrigible." 


258  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN     WHICH     SETH    WATTLES    IS    AGAIN    DISAPPOINTED. 

AFTER  their  return  from  Tiberius  the  life  of  the  Merryfields 
was  unusually  quiet  and  subdued.  The  imprudent  wife,  re- 
leased from  the  fatal  influence  which  had  enthralled  her,  grad- 
ually came  to  see  her  action  in  its  proper  light,  and  to  under- 
stand the  consequences  she  had  so  happily  escaped.  She 
comprehended,  also,  that  there  was  a  point  beyond  which  her 
husband  could  not  be  forced,  but  within  which  she  was  secure 
of  his  indulgent  love.  Something  of  the  tenderness  of  their 
early  married  life  returned  to  her  in  those  days ;  she  forgot 
her  habit  of  complaint;  suspended,  out  of  very  shame,  her 
jealous  demand  for  her  "  rights ;"  and  was  almost  the  busy, 
contented,  motherly  creature  she  had  been  to  James  Merry- 
field  before  either  of  them  learned  that  they  were  invested 
with  important  spiritual  missions. 

He,  also,  reflected  much  upon  what  had  happened.  He  per- 
ceived the  manner  in  which  his  wife's  perverted  views  had 
grown  out  of  the  belief  they  had  mutually  accepted.  The 
possible  abuses  of  this  belief  became  evident  to  him,  yet  his 
mind  was  unable  to  detect  its  inherent  error.  It  rested  on  a 
few  broad,  specious  propositions,  which,  having  accepted,  he 
was  obliged  to  retain,  with»all  their  consequences.  He  had 
neither  sufficient  intellectual  culture  nor  experience  of  life  to 
understand  that  the  discrepancy  between  the  ideal  reform  and 
its  practical  realization  arose,  not  so  much  from  the  truths 
asserted  as  from  the  truths  omitted  or  concealed.  Thus,  tho 
former  serenity  of  his  views  became  painfully  clouded  and  dis- 
turbed, and  there  were  times  when  he  felt  that  he  doubted 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  259 

what  he  knew  must  be  true.  It  was  better,  he  said  to  himself, 
that  he  should  cease,  for  a  while,  to  speculate  on  the  subject ; 
but  his  thoughts  continually  returned  to  it  in  spite  of  himself. 
He  greatly  felt  the  need  of  help  in  this  extremity,  yet  an  un- 
conquerable shyness  prevented  him  from  applying  to  either  of 
the  two  persons — Woodbury  or  Mr.  Waldo — who  were  capa- 
ble of  giving  it.  Towards  his  wife  he  was  entirely  kind  and 
considerate.  After  the  first  day  or  two,  the  subject  of  the 
journey  to  Tiberius  was  tacitly  dropped,  and  even  the  question 
of  Woman's  Rights  was  avoided  as  much  as  possible. 

While  he  read  aloud  the  "  Anniliilator"  in  the  evening,  and 
Mrs.  Merryfield  knit  or  sewed  as  she  listened,  the  servant-girl 
and  the  field-hand  exchanged  their  opinions  in  the  kitchen. 
They  had  detected,  the  first  day,  the  change  in  the  demeanor 
of  the  husband  and  wife.  "They've  been  havin'  a  row,  and 
no  mistake,"  said  Henry,  "  and  I  guess  he's  got  the  best  of  it." 

"  No  sich  a  thing,"  replied  Ann,  indignantly.  "  Him,  in- 
deed !  It's  as  plain  as  my  hand  that  he's  awfully  cut  up,  and 
she's  took  pity  on  him." 

"  Why,  she's  as  cowed  as  can  be  !" 

"  And  he's  like  a  dog  with  his  tail  between  his  legs." 

There  was  a  half  earnest  courtship  going  on  between  the 
two,  and  each,  of  course,  was  interested  in  maintaining  the 
honor  of  the  sex.  It  was  a  prolonged  battle,  renewed  from 
day  to  day  with  re-enforcements  drawn  from  observations  made 
at  meal-times,  or  in  the  field  or  kitchen.  Most  persons  who 
attempt  to  conceal  any  strong  emotion  are  like  ostriches  with 
their  heads  in  the  sand  :  the  dullest  and  stupidest  of  mankind 
will  feel,  if  not  see,  that  something  is  the  matter.  If,  to  a  man 
who  knows  the  world,  the  most  finished  result  of  hypocrisy 
often  fails  of  its  effect,  the  natural  insight  of  those  who  do  not 
think  at  all  is  scarcely  less  sure  and  true.  The  highest  art 
that  ever  a  Jesuit  attained  could  not  blind  a  ship's  crew  or  a 
company  of  soldiers. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  Merryfields,  that,  while  their  de- 
pendents felt  the  change,  the  truth  was  beyond  their  suspicions. 


260  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

Towards  the  few  who  knew  it,  there  was  of  course  no  necessity 
for  disguise,  and  hence,  after  a  solitude  of  ten  days  upon  the 
farm,  Mr.  Merryfield  experienced  a  sense  of  relief  and  satisfac- 
tion, as,  gleaning  the  scattered  wheat  with  a  hay-rake  in  a  field 
adjoining  the  road,  he  perceived  Hannah  Thurston  approach- 
ing from  Ptolemy.  Hitching  his  horse  to  the  fence,  he  climbed 
over  into  the  road  to  meet  her.  It  was  a  warm  afternoon,  and 
he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  unbuttoned  waistcoat ;  but,* 
in  the  country,  conventionalities  have  not  .reached  the  point  of 
the  ridiculous,  and  neither  he  nor  his  visitor  was  aware  of  the 
least  impropriety.  The  farmers,  in  fact,  would  rather  show 
their  own  brawny  arms  and  bare  breasts  than  see  the  bosoms 
of  their  daughters  exposed  to  the  public  gaze  by  a  fashionable 
ball-dress. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,  Hannah,"  said  he,  as  he  gave  her 
his  hard  hand.  "  It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  seen  you  before. 
We've  been  quite  alone  ever  since  then." 

"  I  should  have  come  to  see  you  sooner,  but  for  mother's  ill- 
ness," she  replied.  "  I  hope  you  are  both  well  and — happy." 

Her  look  asked  more  than  her  words. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  understanding  the  question  in  her  mind, 
"  Sarah's  got  over  her  delusion,  I  guess.  Not  a  hard  word 
has  passed  between  us.  We  don't  talk  of  it  any  more.  But, 
Hannah,  I'm  in  trouble  about  the  principle  of  the  thing.  I 
can't  make  it  square  in  my  mind,  as  it  were.  There  seems  to 
be  a  contradiction,  somewhere,  between  principles  and  work- 
ing them  out.  You've  thought  more  about  the  matter  than  I 
have :  can  you  make  things  straight  ?" 

The  struggle  in  Hannah  Thurston's  own  mind  enabled  her 
to  comprehend  his  incoherent  questions.  She  scarcely  knew 
how  to  answer  him,  yet  would  fain  say  something  to  soothe 
and  comfort  him  in  his  perplexity.  After  a  pause,  she  an- 
swered : 

"  I  fear,  James,  that  I  have  over-estimated  my  own  wisdom 
— that  we  have  all  been  too  hasty  in  drawing  conclusions  from 
abstract  reasoning.  We  have,  perhaps,  been  presumptuous  in 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICA^   LIFE.  261 

taking  it  for  granted  that  we,  alone,  possessed  a  truth  which 
the  world  at  large  is  too  blind  to  see — or,  admitting  that  all  is 
true  which  we  believe,  that  we  are  too  hasty  in  endeavoring 
to  fulfil  it  in  our  lives,  before  the  needful  preparation  is  made. 
You  know  that  the  field  must  be  properly  ploughed  and  har- 
rowed, before  you  sow  the  grain.  It  may  be  that  we  are  so 
impatient  as  to  commence  sowing  before  we  have  ploughed." 

This  illustration,  drawn  from  his  own  business,  gave  Merry- 
field  great  comfort.  "  That  must  be  it !"  he  exclaimed.  "  1 
don't  quite  understand  how,  but  I  feel  that  what  you  say  must 
be  true,  nevertheless." 

"Then,"  she  continued,  encouraged  by  the  effect  of  her 
words ;  "  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  we  may  be  too  strict 
in  applying  what  we  know  to  be  absolute,  eternal  truths,  to  a 
life  which  is  finite,  probationary,  and  liable  to  be  affected  by  a 
thousand  influences  over  which  we  have  no  control.  For  in- 
stance, you  may  analyze  your  soil,  and  the  stimulants  you 
apply  to  it — measure  your  grain,  and  estimate  the  exact  yield 
you  ought  to  receive — but  you  cannot  measure  the  heat  and 
moisture,  the  wind  and  hail,  and  the  destructive  insects  which 
the  summer  may  bring  ;  and,  therefore,  you  who  sow  accord- 
ing to  agricultural  laws  may  lose  your  crop,  while  another, 
who  disregards  them,  shall  reap  an  abundant  harvest.  Yet 
the  truth  of  the  laws  you  observed  remains  the  same." 

"  What  would  you  do,  then,  to  be  sure  that  you  are  right  ?" 
the  farmer  asked,  as  he  opened  the  gate  leading  into  his  lane. 

"  To  continue  the  comparison,  I  should  say,  act  as  a  prudent 
husbandman.  Believe  in  the  laws  which  govern  the  growth 
and  increase  of  the  seed,  yet  regulate  your  tillage  according 
to  the  season.  The  crop  is  the  main  thing,  and,  though  it 
sounds  like  heresy,  the  farmer  may  be  right  who  prefers  a 
good  harvest  secured  in  defiance  of  rules  to  a  scanty  one  with 
the  observance  of  them.  But  I  had  better  drop  the  figure 
before  I  make  a  blunder." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !"  he  cried.  "  You've  cheered  me  up 
mightily.  There's  sense  in  what  you  say;  queer  that  it  didnt 


262  HAXNAH    THUKSTOX  : 

come  into  my  mind  before.     I'm  not  sure  that  I  can  work  my 
own  case  so's  to  square  with  it — but  I'll  hold  on  to  the  idee." 

As  they  reached  the  garden,  Hannah  Thurston  plucked  a 
white  rosebud  which  had  thrust  itself  through  the  paling,  and 
fastened  it  to  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  Mr.  Merryfield  imme- 
diately gathered  six  of  the  largest  and  reddest  cabbage-roses, 
and  presented  them  with  a  friendly  air. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  stick  them  on  !  That  white  thing  don't 
show  at  all.  It's  a  pity  the  pineys  are  all  gone." 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  sitting  on  the  shaded  portico,  rose  and  met 
her  visitor  at  the  gate.  The  women  kissed  each  other,  as 
usual,  though  with  a  shade  of  constraint  on  the  part  of  the  for- 
mer. The  farmer,  judging  it  best  to  leave  them  alone  for  a 
little  while,  went  back  to  finish  his  gleaning. 

After  they  were  comfortably  seated  on  the  portico,  and 
Hannah  Thurston  had  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  there  was  an  awk- 
ward pause.  Mrs.  Merryfield  anticipated  an  attack,  than  which 
nothing  was  further  from  her  visitor's  thought. 

"  How  quiet  and  pleasant  it  is  here  !"  the  latter  finally  said. 
"  It  is  quite  a  relief  to  me  to  get  away  from  the  village." 

"  People  are  differently  constituted,"  answered  Mrs.  Merry- 
field,  with  a  slight  defiance  in  her  manner  :  a  I  like  society,  and 
there's  not  much  life  on  a  farm." 

"You  have  enjoyed  it  so  long,  perhaps,  that  you  now 
scarcely  appreciate  it  properly.  A  few  weeks  in  our  little  cot- 
tage would  satisfy  you  which  is  best."  - 

"  I  must  be  satisfied,  as  it  is ;"  Mrs.  Merryfield  replied. 
"  We  women  have  limited  missions,  I  suppose." 

She  intended  herewith  to  indicate  that,  although  she  had  de- 
sisted from  her  purpose,  she  did  not  confess  that  it  had  been 
wrong.  She  had  sacrificed  her  own  desires,  and  the  fact  should 
be  set  down  to  her  credit.  With  Mr.  Waldo  she  Avould  have 
been  candidly  penitent — more  so,  perhaps,  than  she  had  yet 
allowed  her  husband  to  perceive — but  towards  one  of  her  own 
sex,  especially  a  champion  of  social  reform,  her  only  feeling  was 
a  stubborn  determination  to  vindicate  her  action  as  far  as  pos- 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  263 

sible.  Hannah  Thurston  detected  the  under-current  of  her 
thought,  and  strove  to  avoid  an  encounter  with  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  she  ;  "  I  suspect  there  are  few  persons  of  aver- 
age ambition  who  find  a  sphere  broad  enough  to  content  them. 
But  our  merits,  you  know,  are  not  measured  by  that.  You 
may  be  able  to  accomplish  more  good,  here,  in  your  quiet  cir- 
cle of  neighbors,  than  in  some  more  conspicuous  place." 

"/should  be  the  judge  of  that,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Merryfield, 
tartly.  Then,  feeling  that  she  had  been  a  little  too  quick,  she 
added,  with  mournful  meekness  :  "  But  I  suppose  some  lights 
are  meant  to  be  hid,  otherways  there  wouldn't  be  bushels." 

As  she  spoke,  a  light  which  did  not  mean  to  be  hid,  what- 
ever the  accumulation  of  bushels,  approached  from  the  lane. 
It  was  Seth  Wattles,  gracefully  attired  in  a  baggy  blouse  of 
gray  linen,  over  which,  in  front,  hung  the  ends  of  a  huge  pur- 
ple silk  cravat.  He  carried  a  roll  of  paper  in  one  hand,  and 
his  head  was  elevated  with  a  sense  of  more  than  usual  impor- 
tance. The  expression  of  his  shapeless  mouth  became  almost 
triumphant  as  he  perceived  Hannah  Thurston.  She  returned 
his  greeting  with  a  calmness  and  self-possession  which  he  mis- 
took for  a  returning  interest  in  himself. 

By  the  time  the  usual  common-places  had  been  exchanged, 
Merryfield  had  returned  to  the  house.  Seth,  therefore,  hastened 
to  communicate  the  nature  of  his  errand.  "  I  have  been  work- 
ing out  an  idea,"  said  he,  •'  which,  I  think,  meets  the  wants  of 
the  world.  It  can  be  improved,  no  doubt, — I  don't  say  that 
it's  perfect — but  the  fundamental  basis  is  right,  I'm  sure." 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Merryfield,  not  very  eagerly. 

"  A  Plan  for  the  Reorganization  of  Society,  by  which  we  can 
lighten  the  burden  of  labor,  and  avoid  the  necessity  of  Govern- 
ments, with  all  their  abuses.  It  is  something  like  Fourier's  plan 
of  Phalansteries,  only  that  don't  seem  adapted  to  this  country. 
And  it's  too  great  a  change,  all  at  once.  My  plan  can  be  applied 
immediately,  because  it  begins  on  a  smaller  scale.  I'm  sure 
it  will  work,  if  I  can  only  get  it  started.  A  dozen  persons  are 
enough  to  begin  with." 


264  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

"  Well,  how  would  you  begin  ?"  asked  the  farmer. 

"  Take  any  farm  of  ordinary  size — yours  for  instance — and 
make  of  it  a  small  community,  who  shall  represent  all  the  neces- 
sary branches  of  labor.  With  the  aid  of  machinery,  it  will  be 
entirely  independent  of  outside  help.  You  want  a  small  steam- 
engine,  or  even  a  horse-power,  to  thresh,  grind,  saw,  churn, 
turn,  and  hammer.  Then,  one  of  the  men  must  be  a  black- 
smith and  wheelwright,  one  a  tailor,  and  another  a  shoe  and 
harness  maker.  Flax  and  sheep  will  furnish  the  material  for 
clothing,  maple  and  Chinese  cane  will  give  sugar,  and  there 
will  really  be  little  or  nothing  to  buy.  I  assume,  of  course, 
that  we  all  discard  an  artificial  diet,  and  live  on  the  simplest 
substances.  Any  little  illness  can  be  cured  by  hydropathy, 
but  that  would  only  be  necessary  in  the  beginning,  for  diseases 
would  soon  vanish  from  such  a  community.  The  labor  of  the 
women  must  also  be  divided :  one  will  have  charge  of  the  gar- 
den, another  of  the  dairy,  another  of  the  kitchen,  and  so  on. 
When  any  branch  of  work  becomes  monotonous,  there  can  be 
changes  made,  so  that,  in  the  end,  each  one  will  understand  all 
the  different  departments.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  MerryfieJd. 

"I  was  sure  you  would.  Just  consider  what  an  advantage 
over  the  present  system  !  There  need  not  be  a  dollar  of  out- 
lay :  you  can  take  the  houses  as  they  are.  Nothing  would  be 
bought,  and  all  the  produce  of  the  farm,  beyond  what  the 
community  required  for  its  support,  would  be  clear  gain.  In 
a  few  years,  this  would  amount  to  a  fund  large  enough  to  hire 
all  the  necessary  labor,  and  the  members  could  then  devote  the 
rest  of  their  lives  to  intellectual  cultivation.  My  plan  is  diplo- 
matic— that's  the  word.  It  will  reform  men,  in  spite  of  them- 
selves, by  appealing  to  two  of  their  strongest  passions — 
acquisitiveness  and  love  of  ease.  They  would  get  into  a 
higher  moral  atmosphere  before  they  knew  it." 

"I  dare  say,"  Merryfield  remarked,  as  he  crossed  one  leg 
over  the  other,  and  then  put  it  down  again,  restlessly.  "  And 
who  is  to  have  the  general  direction  of  affairs  ?" 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  265 

"  Oh,  there  I  apply  the  republican  principle  !"  Seth  exclaimed. 
"It  will  be  decided  by  vote,  after  discussion,  in  which  all  take 
part,  women  as  well  as  men.  Here  is  my  plan  for  the  day. 
Each  takes  his  or  her  turn,  week  about,  to  rise  before  sunrise, 
make  the  fires,  arid  ring  a  bell  to  rouse  the  others.  After  a 
cold  plunge-bath,  one  hour's  labor,  and  then  breakfast,  accom- 
panied by  cheerful  conversation.  Then  work  until  noon,  when 
dinner  is  prepared.  An  hour's  rest?,  and  labor  again,  when 
necessary.  I  calculate,  however,  that  six  hours  a  day  will 
generally  be  sufficient.  Supper  at  sunset,  followed  by  discus- 
sion and  settlement  of  plans  for  the  next  day.  Singing  in 
chorus,  half  an  hour ;  dancing,  one  hour,  and  conversation  on 
moral  subjects  until  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  bell  rings  for  rest. 
You  see,  the  plan  combines  every  thing ;  labor,  recreation, 
society,  and  mental  improvement.  As  soon  as  we  have  estab- 
lished a  few  communities,  we  can  send  messengers  between 
them,  and  will  not  be  obliged  to  support  the  Government 
through  the  Post-Office.  IsTow,  I  want  you  to  begin  the  reform." 

"  Me  !"  exclaimed  Merryfield,  with  a  start. 

"  Yes,  it's  the  very  thing.  You  have  two  hundred  acres, 
and  a  house  big  enough  for  a  dozen.  I  think  we  can  raise  the 
community  in  a  little  while.  We  can  call  it  '  Merryfield,'  or, 
if  you  choose,  in  Latin — Tanner  says  it's  Campus  Gaudius,  or 
something  of  the  kind.  It  will  soon  be  known,  far  and  wide, 
and  we  must  have  a  name  to  distinguish  it.  I  have  no  doubt 
the  Whitlows  would  be  willing  to  join  us ;  Mrs.  Whitlow 
could  take  the  dairy,  and  Miss^Thurston  the  garden.  He's 
been  in  the  grocery-line :  he  could  make  sugar,  until  he  got 
acquainted  with  other  kinds  of  work." 

"  Dairy,  indeed  !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Merryfield.  "  Yes,  she'd 
like  to  skim  cream  and  drink  it  by  the  tumbler-full,  no  doubt. 
A  delightful  community  it  would  be,  with  the  cows  in  her 
charge,  somebody  else  in  the  bedrooms,  and  me  seeing  to  the 
kitchen !" 

"  Before  I'd  agree  to  it,  I'd  see  all  the  communities " 

Mr.  Merryfield' s  exclamation  terminated  with  a  stronger 
12 


266  HANNAH  THTJKSTON: 

word  than  his  wife  had  heard  him  utter  for  years.  He  jumped 
from  his  seat,  as  he  spoke,  and  strode  up  and  down  the  portico. 
Hannah  Thurston,  in  spite  of  a  temporary  shock  at  the  unex- 
pected profanity,  felt  that  her  respect  for  James  Merryfield 
had  undergone  a  slight  increase.  She  was  a  little  surprised  at 
herself,  that  it  should  be  so.  As  for  Seth  Wattles,  he  was 
completely  taken  aback.  He  had  surmised  that  his  plan  might 
meet  with  some  technical  objections,  but  he  was  certain  that 
it  would  be  received  with  sympathy,  and  that  he  should  finally 
persuade  the  farmer  to  accept  it.  Had  the  latter  offered  him 
a  glass  of  whiskey,  or  drawn  a  bowie-knife  from  his  sleeve,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  astounded.  He  sat,  with  open 
mouth  and  staring  eyes,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  Look  here,  Seth,"  said  Merryfield,  pausing  in  his  walk ; 
"  neither  you  nor  me  a'n't  a-going  to  reform  the  world.  A 
good  many  things  a'n't  right,  I  know,  and  as  far  as  talking 
goes,  we  can  speak  our  mind  about  'em.  But  when  it  comes 
to  fixing  them  yourself,  I  reckon  you  want  a  little  longer  ap- 
prenticeship first.  I  sha'n't  try  it  at  my  age.  Make  as  pretty 
a  machine  as  you  like,  on  paper,  but  don't  think  you'll  set  it 
up  in  my  house.  There's  no  inside  works  to  it,  and  it  won't  go." 

"  Why — why,"  Seth  stammered,  "  I  always  thought  you 
were  in  favor  of  Social  Reform." 

"  So  I  am — but  I  want,  first,  to  see  how  it's  to  be  done. 
I'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  Neither  you  nor  Tanner  are  married, 
and  have  no  risk  to  run.  Take  a  couple  more  with  you,  and 
set  up  a  household  :  do  your  cooking,  washing,  sweeping,  and 
bed-making,  by  turns,  and  if  you  hold  together  six  months, 
and  say  you're  satisfied,  I'll  have  some  faith  in  your  plan." 

"  And  get  Mrs.  Whitlow  to  be  one  of  your  Community," 
added  Mrs.  Merryfield,  "or  the  experiment  won't  be  worth 
much.  Let  her  take  care  of  your  dairy,  and  Mary  Wollstone- 
craft  and  Phillis  Wheatley  tend  to  your  garden.  Send  me 
word  when  you're  ready,  and  I'll  come  and  see  how  you  get 
on!" 

"  I  don't  need  to  work,  as  it  is,  more  than's  healthy  for  nie," 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN    LIFE.  267 

her  husband  continued,  "  and  I  don't  want  Sarah  to,  neither. 
I  can  manage  my  farm  without  any  trouble,  and  I've  no  notion 
of  taking  ten  green  hands  to  bother  me,  and  then  have  to  di- 
vide my  profits  with  them.  Show  me  a  plan  that'll  give  me 
something  more  than  I  have,  instead  of  taking  away  the  most 
of  it." 

"  Why,  the  society,  the  intellectual  cultivation,"  Seth  re- 
marked, but  in  a  hopeless  voice.  ^  ..- 

"I  don't  know  as  I've  much  to  learn  from  either  you  or  Tan- 
ner. As  for  Whitlows,  all  I  can  say  is,  I've  tried  'em.  But 
what  do  you  think  of  it,  Hannah  ?" 

"  Very  much  as  you  do.  I,  for  one,  am  certainly  not  ready 
to  try  any  such  experiment,"  Miss  Thurston  replied.  "I  still 
think  that  the  family  relation  is  natural,  true,  and  necessary, 
yet  I  do  not  wonder  that  those  who  have  never  known  it  should 
desire  something  better  than  the  life  of  a  boarding-house.  I 
know  what  that  is." 

"  Seth  "  said  Merryfield,  recovering  from  his  excitement, 
Which  he  now  saw,  was  quite  incomprehensible  to  the  disap- 
pointed tailor,  "  there's  one  conclusion  I've  come  to,  and  I'd 
advise  you  to  turn  it  over  in  your  own  mind.  You  and  me  may 
be  right  in  our  idees  of  what's  wrong  and  what  ought  to  be 
changed,  but  we're  not  the  men  to  set  things  right.  I'm  not 
Garrison,  nor  yet  Wendell  Phillips,  nor  you  a —  what's  his 
name  ? — that  Frenchman  ? — oh,  Furrier,  and  neither  of  them's 
done  any  thing  yet  but  talk  and  write.  We're  only  firemen  on 
the  train,  as  it  were,  and  if  we  try  to  drive  the  engine,  we  may 
just  run  every  thing  to  smash." 

The  trying  experience  through  which  Merryfield  had  passed, 
was  not  without  its  good  results.  There  was  a  shade  more  of 
firmness  in  his  manner,  of  directness  in  his  speech.  The  mere 
sentiment  of  the  reform,  which  had  always  hung  about  him 
awkwardly,  and  sometimes  even  ludicrously,  seemed  to  have 
quite  disappeared ;  and  though  his  views  had  not  changed — at 
least,  not  consciously  so — they  passed  through  a  layer  of  re- 
awakened practical  sense  somewhere  between  the  organs  of 


268  HANNAH    THURSTON  : 

thought  and  speech,  and  thus  assumed  a  different  coloring. 
He  was  evidently  recovering  from  that  very  prevalent  disor- 
der— an  actual  paralysis  of  the  reasoning  faculties,  which  the 
victim  persists  in  considering  as  their  highest  state  of  activity. 

Seth  had  no  spirit  to  press  any  further  advocacy  of  his  sub- 
lime scheme.  He  merely  heaved  a  sigh  of  coarse  texture,  and 
remarked,  in  a  desponding  tone :  "  There's  not  much  satisfac- 
tion in  seeing  the  Right,  unless  you  can  help  to  fulfil  it.  I  may 
not  have  more  than  one  talent,  but  I  did  not  expect  you  to 
offer  me  a  napkin  to  tie  it  up  in." 

This  was  the  best  thing  Seth  ever  said.  It  surprised  him- 
self, and  he  repeated  it  so  often  afterwards,  that  the  figure  be- 
came as  inevitable  a  part  of  his  speeches,  as  the  famous  two 
horsemen,  in  a  certain  author's  novels. 

Merryfield,  seeing  how  completely  he  was  vanquished,  be- 
came the  kind  host  again  and  invited  him  to  stay  for  tea. 
Then,  harnessing  one  of  his  farm-horses,  he  drove  into  Ptolemy 
for  his  semi-weekly  mail,  taking  Hannah  Thurston  with  him. 
As  they  were  about  leaving,  Mrs.  Merryfield  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  gate,  with  a  huge  bunch  of  her  garden  flowers, 
and  a  basket  of  raspberries,  for  the  Widow  Thurston.  She  was, 
in  reality,  very  grateful  for  the  visit.  It  had  dissipated  a  secret 
anxiety  which  had  begun  to  trouble  her  during  the  previous 
two  or  three  days. 

"Who  knows" — she  said  to  herself,  sitting  on  the  portico  in 
the  twilight,  while  a  breeze  from  the  lake  shook  the  woodbines 
on  the  lattice,  and  bathed  her  in  their  soothing  balm — "  who 
knows  but  there  are  Mrs.  Whitlows,  or  worse,  there,  too  I" 


A  STORY   OF  AMERICAN   LIFE.  269 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

WITH   AN  ENTIRE   CHANGE    OF   SCENE. 

AFTER  leaving  Lakeside,  Maxwell  Woodbury  first  directed 
his  course  to  Niagara,  to  refresh  himself  with  its  inexhaustible 
beauty,  before  proceeding  to  the  great  lakes  of  the  North- 
west. His  intention  was,  to  spend  six  or  eight  weeks  amid 
the  bracing  atmosphere  and  inspiring  scenery  of  the  Northern 
frontier,  both  as  a  necessary  change  from  his  quiet  life  on  the 
farm,  and  in  order  to  avoid  the  occasional  intense  heat  of  the 
Atauga  Valley.  From  Niagara  he  proceeded  to  Detroit  and 
Mackinaw,  where,  enchanted  by  the  bold  shores,  the  wild 
woods,  and  the  marvellous  crystal  of  the  water,  he  remained 
for  ten  days.  A  change  of  the  weather  to  rain  and  cold  obli- 
ged him  to  turn  his  back  on  the  attractions  of  Lake  Superior 
and  retrace  his  steps  to  Niagara.  Thence,  loitering  down  the 
northern  shore  of  Ontario,  shooting  the  rapids  of  the  Thousand 
Isles,  or  delaying  at  the  picturesque  French  settlements  on  the 
Lower  St.  Lawrence,  he  reached  Quebec  in  time  to  take  one 
of  the  steamboats  to  the  Saguenay. 

At  first,  the  superb  panorama  over  which  the  queenly  city  is 
enthroned — the  broad,  undulating  shores,  dotted  with  the  cot- 
tages of  the  liabitans — the  green  and  golden  fields  of  the  Isle 
d'Orleans,  basking  in  the  sun — the  tremulous  silver  veil  of  the 
cataract  of  Montmorency,  fluttering  down  the  dark  rocks,  and 
the  blue  ranges  of  the  distant  Laurentian  mountains — absorbed 
all  the  new  keenness  of  his  faculties.  Standing  on  the  prow  of 
the  hurricane-deck,  he  inhaled  the  life  of  a  breeze  at  once 
resinous  from  interminable  forests  of  larch  and  fir,  and  sharp 


27C  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

with  the  salt  of  the  ocean,  as  he  watched  the  grander  sweep 
of  the  slowly  separating  shores.  Except  a  flock  of  Quebeckers 
on  their  way  to  Murray  Bay  and  Riviere  du  Loup,  there  were 
but  few  passengers  on  board.  A  professor  from  a  college  in 
New  Hampshire,  rigid  in  his  severe  propriety,  looked  through 
his  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  and  meditated  on  the  probable 
geology  of  the  headland  of  Les  Eboulemens  ;  two  Georgians, 
who  smoked  incessantly,  and  betrayed  in  their  accent  that  of 
the  negro  children  with  whom  they  had  played,  commented, 
with  unnecessary  loudness,  on  the  miserable  appearance  of  the 
Canadian  "peasants;"  a  newly-married  pair  from  Cincinnati 
sat  apart  from  the  rest,  dissolved  in  tender  sentiment ;  and 
a  tall,  stately  lady,  of  middle  age,  at  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
acted  at  the  same  time  as  mother,  guide,  and  companion  to  two 
very  pretty  children — a  girl  of  fourteen  and  a  boy  of  twelve. 

As  the  steamboat  halted  at  Murray  Bay  to  land  a  number  of 
passengers,  Woodbury  found  time  to  bestow  some  notice  on 
his  fellow-travellers.  His  attention  was  at  once  drawn  to  the 
lady  and  children.  The  plain,  practical  manner  in  which  they 
were  dressed  for  the  journey  denoted  refinement  and  cultiva- 
tion. The  Cincinnati  bride  swept  the  deck  with  a  gorgeous 
purple  silk;  but  this  lady  wore  a  coarse,  serviceable  gray 
cloak  over  her  travelling-dress  of  brown  linen,  and  a  hat  of 
gray  straw,  without  ornament.  Her  head  was  turned  towards 
the  shore,  and  Woodbury  could  not  see  her  face;  but  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  as  she  spoke  to  the  children,  took  familiar 
hold  of  his  ear.  He  had  certainly  heard  that  voice  before ; 
but  where,  and  when  ?  The  boat  at  last  backed  away  from 
the  pier,  and  she  turned  her  head.  Her  face  was  a  long  oval, 
with  regular  and  noble  features,  the  brow  still  smooth  and 
serene,  the  dark  eyes  soft  and  bright,  but  the  hair  prematurely 
gray  on  the  temples.  Her  look  had  that  cheerful  calmness 
which  is  the  maturity  of  a  gay,  sparkling  temperament  of 
youth,  and  which  simply  reserves,  not  loses,  its  fire. 

Woodbury  involuntarily  struck  his  hand  upon  his  forehead, 
with  a  sudden  effort  of  memory.  Perhaps  noticing  this  action, 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  271 

the  lady  looked  towards  him  and  their  eyes  met.  Hers,  too, 
betrayed  surprise  and  semi-recognition.  He  stepped  instantly 
forward. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  he,  "  if  I  am  mistaken,  but  I  feel  sure 
that  I  have  once  known  you  as  Miss  Julia  Remington.  Am  I 
not  right  ?" 

"That  was  my  name  fifteen  years  ago,"  she  answered,  slowly. 
"  Why  cannot  I  recall  yours  ?  I  remember  your  face." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  having  cfone  me  the  honor  to  attend 

a  soiree  which  I  gave,  at  the  corner  of  Bowery  and  

street?" 

"  Mr.  Woodbury !"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  both  her 
hands :  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again  !  Who  could  have 
dreamed  that  two  old  friends  should  come  from  Calcutta  and 
St.  Louis  to  meet  at  the  mouth  of  the  Saguenay  ?" 

"  St.  Louis !" 

"  Yes,  St.  Louis  has  been  my  home  for  the  last  ten  years. 
But  you  must  know  my  present  name — Blake :  wife  of  An- 
drew Blake,  and  mother  of  Josephine  and  George,  besides 
two  younger  ones,  waiting  for  me  at  Saratoga.  Come  here, 
Josey ;  come,  George — this  is  Mr.  Woodbury,  whom  I  used  to 
know  many,  many  years  ago  in  New  York.  You  must  be 
good  friends  with  him,  and  perhaps  he  will  tell  you  of  the 
wonderful  ball  he  once  gave." 

Woodbury  laughed,  and  cordially  greeted  the  children,  who 
came  to  him  with  modest  respect,  but  without  embarrassment. 
Long  before  the  boat  had  reached  Riviere  du  Loup,  the  old 
friendship  was  sweetly  re-established,  and  two  new  members 
introduced  into  its  circle. 

Mrs.  Blake  had  been  spending  some  weeks  at  Saratoga, 
partly  with  her  husband  and  partly  alone,  while  he  attended  to 
some  necessary  business  in  New  York  and  Philadelphia.  This 
business  had  obliged  him  to  give  up  his  projected  trip  to  the 
Saguenay,  and  it  was  arranged  that  his  wife  should  make  it  in 
company  with  the  two  oldest  children,  the  youngest  being 
left,  meanwhile,  in  the  care  of  a  faithful  servant. 


272  HANNAH   THUKSTOK 

Woodbury  had  always  held  Miss  Remington  in  grateful 
remembrance,  and  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  him  to  meet  her 
thus  unexpectedly.  He  found  her  changed  in  outward  appear- 
ance, but  soon  perceived  that  her  admirable  common  sense,  her 
faithful,  sturdily  independent  womanhood,  were  still,  as  for- 
merly, the  basis  of  her  nature.  She  was  one  of  those  rare 
women  who  are  at  the  same  time  as  clear  and  correct  as  pos- 
sible in  their  perceptions,  penetrating  all  the  disguises  and 
illusions  of  life,  yet  unerringly  pure  and  true  in  instinct  and 
feeling.  Such  are  almost  the  only  women  with  whom  thor- 
oughly developed  and  cultivated  men  can  form  those  intimate 
and  permanent  friendships,  in  which  both  heart  and  brain 
find  the  sweetest  repose,  without  the  necessity  of  posting  a 
single  guard  on  any  of  the  avenues  which  lead  to  danger. 
Few  women,  and  still  fewer  men,  understand  a  friendship  of 
this  kind,  and  those  who  possess  it  must  brave  suspicion  and 
misunderstanding  at  every  turn. 

The  relation  between  Woodbury  and  Miss  Remington  had 
never,  of  course,  attained  this  intimacy,  but  they  now  instinc- 
tively recognized  its  possibility.  Both  had  drunk  of  the  cup 
of  knowledge  since  their  parting,  and  they  met  again  on  a 
more  frank  and  confidential  footing  than  they  had  previously 
known.  Mrs.  Blake  was  so  unconsciously  correct  in  her  im-. 
pulses  that  she  never  weighed  and  doubted,  before  obeying 
them.  The  wand  of  her  spirit  never  bent  except  where  the 
hidden  stream  was  both  pure  and  strong. 

That  evening,  as  the  boat  halted  at  Riviere  du  Loup  for  the 
night,  they  walked  the  hurricane-deck  in  the  long  Northern 
twilight,  and  talked  of  the  Past.  Many  characters  had  faded 
away  from  the  sight  of  both ;  others  had  either  fallen  from 
their  early  promise,  or  soared  surprisingly  far  above  it ;  but 
all,  with  their  attendant  loves,  and  jealousies,  and  hates,  stood 
out  sharp  and  clear  in  the  memory  of  the  speakers.  Mrs. 
Blake,  then,  in  answer  to  Woodbury's  inquiries,  gave  him  a 
rapid  sketch  of  her  own  life. 

"  I  am  quite  satisfied,"  she  said  at  the  close.     "  My  husband 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  273 

is  not  exactly  the  preux  chevalier  I  used  to  imagine,  as  a  girl, 
but  he  is  a  true  gentleman" — 

"You  never  could  have  married  him,  if  he  were  not," 
Woodbury  interrupted. 

— "  a  true  gentleman,  and  an  excellent  man  of  business, 
which  is  as  necessary  in  this  age  as  knighthood  was  in  those 
famous  Middle  ones.  Our  married  life  has  been  entirely  happy 
from  the  start,  because  we  mutuajly  put  aside  our  illusions, 
and  made  charitable  allowances  for  each  other.  We  did  not 
attempt  to  cushion  the  sharp  angles,  but  courageously  clashed 
them  together  until  they  were  beaten  into  roundness." 

She  broke  into  a  pleasant,  quiet  laugh,  and  then  went  on : 
"  I  want  you  to  know  my  husband.  You  are  very  different, 
but  there  are  points  of  contact  which,  I  think,  would  attract  both. 
You  have  in  common,  at  least,  a  clear,  intelligent  faculty  of 
judgment,  which  is  a  pretty  sure  sign  of  freemasonry  be- 
tween man  and  man.  I  don't  like  Carlyle  as  an  author,  yet  I 
indorse,  heart  and  soul,  his  denunciation  of  shams.  But  here 
I  am  at  the  end  of  my  history :  now  tell  me  yours." 

She  listened  with  earnest,  sympathetic  interest  to  Wood- 
bury's  narrative,  and  the  closing  portion,  which  related  to  his 
life  at  Lakeside,  evidently  aroused  her  attention  more  than  all 
the  lazy,  uneventful  tropical  years  he  had  spent  in  Calcutta. 
When  he  had  finished  the  outlines,  she  turned  suddenly  to- 
wards him  and  asked :  "  Is  there  nothing  more  ?" 

"  What  should  there  be  ?"  he  asked  in  return,  with  a  smile 
which  showed  that  he  understood  her  question. 

"What  should  be,  is  not,  I  know,"  said  she;  "I  saw  that 
much,  at  once.  You  will  allow  me  to  take  a  liberty  which 
I  am  sure  cannot  now  give  pain :  she  is  not  the  cause  of 
it,  I  hope  ?" 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and  felt  relieved  as  she  de- 
tected no  trace  of  a  pang  which  her  words  might  have  called 
up.  The  expression  of  his  lips  softened  rather  to  pity  as  he 
answered  :  "  She  has  long  ceased  to  have  any  part  in  my  life, 
and  she  has  now  very  little  in  my  thoughts.  When  T  saw  her 
12* 


274  HANNAH   THUESTON  : 

again,  last  winter,  there  was  not  a  single  fibre  of  my  heart  dis- 
turbed. I  will  confess  this  much,  however — another  face,  a 
more  hopeless  memory,  long  ago  displaced  hers.  Both  are 
gone,  and  I  am  now  trying  to  find  a  third." 

His  tone  was  apparently  light  and  indifferent,  but  to  Mrs. 
Blake's  true  ear  it  betrayed  both  weariness  and  longing. 
"  You  cannot  be  deceived  the  third  time,"  she  said,  con- 
solingly. 

"  I  was  not  deceived  the  second  time,"  he  answered,  "  but  I 
will  not  tell  you  the  story,  just  now.  It  is  as  completely  at  an 
end  as  if  it  had  never  happened.  Can  you  help  me  to  another 
trial?" 

She  shook  her  heaci.  "It  is  strange  that  so  few  of  the  best 
men  and  women  discover  each  other.  Nature  must  be  op- 
posed to  the  concentration  of  qualities,  and  continually  striving 
to  reconcile  the  extremes  ;  I  cannot  account  for  it  in  any  other 
way.  You  are  still  young ;  but  do  not  carelessly  depend  on 
your  youth ;  you  are  not  aware  how  rapidly  a  man's  habits 
become  ossified,  at  your  age.  Marriage  involves  certain  mu- 
tual sacrifices,  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances.  Don't 
trust  too  long  to  your  own  strength." 

"  Ah,  but  where  is  the  girl  with  your  clear  sense,  Mrs.  Blake  ?" 
asked  Woodbury,  pausing  in  his  walk.  "  My  wife  must  be 
strong  enough  to  know  her  husband  as  he  was  and  is.  The  de- 
ceits which  so  many  men  habitually  practise,  disgust  me.  Who 
would  hear  my  confession,  and  then  absolve  me  by  love  ?" 

"  Who  ?  Almost  every  woman  that  loves !  No :  I  will 
make  no  exceptions,  because  the  woman  who  would  not  do  so, 
does  not  really  love.  Men  are  cowards,  because  they  fancy 
that  women  are,  and  so  each  sex  cheats  itself  through  want  of 
faith  in  the  other.  Is  that  a  recent  misgiving  of  yours  ?" 

"  You  are  a  dangerous  friend,  Mrs.  Blake.  Your  husband, 
I  suspect,  is  forced  to  be  candid,  out  of  sheer  despair  at  the 
possibility  of  concealing  any  thing  from  you.  Yes,  you  have 
interpreted  my  thought  correctly.  I  spoke  with  reference  to 
one  particular  person,  whom  I  am  very  far  from  loving,  or  even 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  275 

desiring  to  love,  but  whose  individuality  somewhat  interests 
me.  A  woman's  ideal  of  man,  I  am  afraid,  rises  in  proportion 
to  her  intellectual  culture.  From  the  same  cause,  she  is  not  so 
dependent  on  her  emotions,  and  therefore  more  calculating  and 
exacting.  Is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  not  so !"  replied  Mrs.  Blake,  with  energy.  "  Re- 
collect, we  are  not  speaking  of  the  sham  women." 

"  She  does  not  belong  to  that  class,"  said  Woodbury.  "She 
is,  in  many  respects,  a  rare  and  noble  character  ;  she  possesses 
natural  qualities  of  mind  which  place  her  far  above  the  average 
of  women ;  she  is  pure  as  a  saint,  bold  and  brave,  and  yet 
thoroughly  feminine  in  all  respects  save  one — but  that  one 
exceptional  feature  neutralizes  all  the  others." 

"  What  is  it  ?" 

44  She  is  strong-minded." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blake,  "  do  you  mean  a  second 
Bessie  Stryker  ?" 

"  Something  of  the  kind — so  far  as  I  know.  She  is  one  of 
the  two  or  three  really  intelligent  women  in  Ptolemy — but 
with  the  most  singularly  exaggerated  sense  of  duty.  Some 
persons  would  have  censured  me  more  considerately  for  for- 
gery or  murder  than  she  did  for  smoking  a  cigar.  I  discussed 
the  subject  of  Women's  Rights  with  her,  the  last  thing  before 
leaving  home,  and  found  her  as  intolerant  as  the  rankest  Con- 
servative.  What  a  life  such  a  woman  would  lead  one  !  Yet, 
I  confess  she  provokes  me,  because,  but  for  that  one  fault,  she 
would  be  worth  winning.  It  is  vexatious  to  see  a  fine  creature 
so  spoiled." 

"  With  all  her  fanaticism,  she  seems  to  have  made  a  strong 
impression  on  you." 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  deny  it,"  Woodbury  candidly  replied. 
"  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  In  the  first  place,  she  is  still 
something  of  a  phenomenon  to  me,  and  therefore  stimulates 
my  curiosity.  Secondly,  she  is  far  above  all  the  other  girls  of 
Ptolemy,  both  in  intellect  and  in  natural  refinement.  She 
makes  the  others  so  tame  that,  while  I  could  not  possibly  love 


276  HANNAH  THUESTON: 


her,  she  prevents  me  from  loving  any  of  them.  What  am  I 
to  do?" 

"  A  difficult  case,  upon  my  word.  If  I  knew  the  characters, 
I  might  assist  you  to  a  solution.  The  only  random  suggestion 
I  can  make  is  this  :  if  the  strong-minded  woman  should  come 
to  love  you,  in  spite  of  her  strength,  it  will  make  short  worft 
of  her  theories  of  women's  rights.  Our  instincts  are  stronger 
than  our  ideas,  and  the  brains  of  some  of  us  run  wild  only 
because  our  hearts  are  unsatisfied.  I  should  probably  have 
been  making  speeches  through  the  country,  in  a  Bloomer 
dress,  by  this  time,  if  I  had  not  met  with  my  good  Andrew. 
You  need  not  laugh  :  I  am  quite  serious.  And  I  can  give  you 
one  drop  of  comfort,  before-  you  leave  the  confessional  :  I  see 
that  your  feelings  are  fresh  and  healthy,  without  a  shade  of 
cynicism:  as  we  say  in  the  West,  the  latch-string  of  your 
heart  has  not  been  pulled  in,  and  I  predict  that  somebody  will 
yet  open  the  door.  Good-night  !" 

Giving  his  hand  a  hearty-  honest  pressure  of  sympathy, 
Mrs.  Blake  went  to  her  state-room.  Woodbury  leaned  over 
the  stern-railing,  and  gazed  upon  the  sprinkles  of  reflected 
starlight  in  the  bosom  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  The  waves 
lapped  on  the  stones  of  the  wharf  with  a  low,  liquid  murmur, 
and  a  boatman,  floating  upwards  with  the  tide,  sang  at  a  dis- 
tance :  "  Jamais  je  ne  tf  oublierai"  Woodbury  mechanically 
caught  the  melody  and  sang  the  words  after  him,  till  boat  and 
voice  faded  together  out  of  sight  and  hearing.  It  refreshed 
rather  than  disturbed  him  that  the  eye  of  a  true  woman  had 
looked  upon  his  heart.  "  Whatever  may  be  the  end,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  she  shall  know  the  whole  truth,  one  day.  When 
we  suspect  that  a  seed  of  passion  may  have  been  dropped  in 
our  natures,  we  must  quietly  wait  until  we  feel  that  it  has  put 
forth  roots.  I  did  not  tell  her  the  whole  truth.  I  am  not 
sure  but  that  I  may  love  that  girl,  with  all  her  mistaken  views. 
Her  face  follows  me,'  and  calls  me  back.  If  each  of  us  could 
but  find  the  other's  real  self,  then  —  why,  then"  - 

He  did  not  follow  the  thought  further.     The  old  pang  arose, 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  277 

the  old  hunger  of  the  heart  came  over  him,  and  brought  with 
it  those  sacred  yearnings  for  the  tenderer  ties  which  follow 
marriage,  and  which  man,  scarcely  less  than  woman,  craves. 
The  red  lights  of  two  cigars  came  down  the  long  pier,  side  by 
side  :  it  was  the  Georgians,  returning  from  a  visit  to  the  vil- 
lage. The  New  Hampshire  Professor  approached  him,  and 
politely  remarked  :  "  It  is  singular  that  the  Old  Red  Sandstone 
reappears  in  this  locality." 

"Very  singular,"  answered  Wotfdbury.  "  Good-night,  Sir  1" 
and  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  the  steamer  crossed  to  Tadoussac,  and 
entered  the  pitch-brown  waters  of  the  savage,  the  sublime,  the 
mysterious  Saguenay.  The  wonderful  scenery  of  this  river, 
or  rather  fiord,  made  the  deepest  impression  on  the  new-made 
friends.  It  completely  banished  from  their  minds  the  conver- 
sation of  the  previous  evening.  Who  could  speak  or  even 
think  of  love,  or  the  tender  sorrow  that  accompanies  the 
memory  of  betrayed  hopes,  in  the  presence  of  this  stern  and 
tremendous  reality.  Out  of  water  which  seemed  thick  and 
sullen  as  the  stagnant  Styx,  but  broke  into  a  myriad  beads  of 
dusky  amber  behind  the  steamer's  paddles,  leaped  now  and 
then  a  white  porpoise,  weird  and  solitary  as  the  ghost  of  a 
murdered  fish.  On  either  side  rose  the  headlands  of  naked 
granite,  walls  a  thousand  feet  in  height,  cold,  inaccessible, 
terrible ;  and  even  where,  split  apart  by  some  fore-world  con- 
vulsion, they  revealed  glimpses  up  into  the  wilderness  behind, 
no  cheating  vapor,  no  haze  of  dreams,  softened  the  distant 
picture,  but  the  gloomy  green  of  the  fir-forests  darkened  into 
indigo  blue,  arid  stood  hard  and  cold  against  the  gray  sky. 
After  leaving  L'Anse  a  1'Eau,  all  signs  .of  human  life  ceased. 
]STo  boat  floated  on  the  black  glass ;  no  fisher's  hut  crouched  in 
the  sheltered  coves ;  no  settler's  axe  had  cut  away  a  single 
feather  from  the  ragged  plumage  of  the  hills. 

But  as  they  reached  the  awful  cliffs  of  Trinity  and  Eternity, 
rising  straight  as  plummet  falls  from  their  bases,  a  thousand 
feet  below  the  surface,  to  their  crests,  fifteen  hundred  feet  in 


278  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

the  air,  a  wind  blew  out  of  the  north,  tearing  and  rolling 
away  the  gray  covering  of  the  sky,  and  allowing  sudden  floods 
of  sunshine  to  rush  down  through  the  blue  gaps.  The  hearts 
of  the  travellers  were  lifted,  as  by  the  sound  of  trumpets. 
Far  back  from  between  the  two  colossal  portals  of  rock,  like 
the  double  propyloe  of  some  Theban  temple,  ran  a  long,  deep 
gorge  of  the  wilderness,  down  which  the  coming  sunshine 
rolled  like  a  dazzling  inundation,  drowning  the  forests  in 
splendor,  pouring  in  silent  cataracts  over  the  granite  walls, 
and  painting  the  black  bosom  of  the  Saguenay  with  the  blue 
of  heaven.  It  was  a  sudden  opening  of  the  Gates  of  the 
North,  and  a  greeting  from  the  strong  Genius  who  sat  en- 
throned beyond  the  hills, — not  in  slumber  and  dreams,  like  his 
languid  sister  of  the  South,  cooling  her  dusky  nakedness  in  the 
deepest  shade,  but  with  the  sun  smiting  his  unflinching  eyes, 
with  his  broad,  hairy  breast  open  to  the  wind,  with  the  best 
blood  of  the  world  beating  loud  and  strong  in  his  heart,  and 
the  seed  of  empires  in  his  virile  loins ! 

Woodbury  was  not  one  of  your  "  gushing"  characters,  who 
cry  out  "  Splendid  !"  "  Glorious !"  on  the  slightest  provocation. 
When  most  deeply  moved  by  the  grander  aspects  of  Nature, 
he  rarely  spoke ;  but  he  had  an  involuntary  habit  of  singing 
softly  to  himself,  at  such  times.  So  he  did  now,  quite  uncon- 
sciously, and  had  got  as  far  as : 

"  Thy  heart  is  in  the  upper  world, 

And  where  the  chamois  bound ; 

Thy  heart  is  where  the  mountain  fir 

Shakes  to  the  torrent's  sound ;" 

— when  he  suddenly  checked  himself  and  turned  away  with 
a  laugh  and  a  light  blush  of  self-embarrassment.  He  had  been 
picturing  to  himself  the  intense  delight  which  Hannah  Thurs 
ton  would  have  felt  in  the  scene  before  him. 

Meanwhile  the  boat  sped  on,  and  soon  reached  the  end  of 
the  voyage  at  Ha-ha  Bay.  Mrs.  Blake  and  her  children  were 
delighted  with  their  journey,  to  which  the  meeting  with 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  279 

Woodbury  had  given  such  an  additional  charm.  As  they 
descended  the  Saguenay  in  the  afternoon,  their  eyes  grew  ac- 
customed to  the  vast  scale  of  the  scenery;  loftier  and  grander 
arose  the  walls  of  granite,  and  more  wild  and  awful  yawned 
the  gorges  behind  them.  The  St.  Lawrence  now  opened  in 
front  with  the  freedom  of  the  sea,  and  in  the  crimson  light  of 
a  superb  sunset  they  returned  to  Riviere  du  Loup. 

The  companionship  was  not  dropped  after  they  had  reached 
Quebec.  Woodbury  accompanied  them  to  the  Falls  of  the 
Montmorency  and  the  Chaudiere ;  to  the  Plains  of  Abraham 
and  the  quaint  French  villages  on  the  shores ;  and  their  even- 
ings were  invariably  spent  on  Durham  Terrace,  to  enjoy, 
over  and  over  again,  the  matchless  view.  It  was  arranged 
that  they  should  return  to  Saratoga  together,  by  way  of  Cham- 
plain  and  Lake  George ;  and  a  few  more  days  found  them 
there,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Blake. 

He  came  at  last ;  and  his  wife  had  not  incorrectly  judged, 
in  supposing  that  there  were  some  points  of  mutual  attraction 
between  the  two  men.  The  Western  merchant,  though  a 
shrewd  and  prudent  man  of  business,  was  well  educated,  had 
a  natural  taste  for  art  (he  had  just  purchased  two  pictures  by 
Church  and  Kensett),  and  was  familiar  with  the  literature  of 
the  day.  He  was  one  of  those  fortunate  men  who  are  capable 
of  heartily  enjoying  such  things,  without  the  slightest  ambition 
to  produce  them.  He  neither  complained  of  his  own  vocation, 
nor  did  he  lightly  esteem  it.  He  was  not  made  for  idle 
indulgence,  and  was  sufficiently  prosperous  to  allow  himself 
proper  recreation.  His  temperament,  therefore,  was  healthy, 
cheerful,  and  stimulating  to  those  with  whom  he  came  in  con- 
tact. He  was  by  no  means  handsome,  and  had  a  short, 
abrupt  manner  of  speaking,  which  Woodbury's  repose  of 
manner  threw  into  greater  distinctness.  His  wife,  however, 
knew  his  true  value,  as  he  knew  hers,  and  their  mutual  con- 
fidence was  absolute. 

Woodbury  strongly  urged  them  to  spend  a  few  days  with 
him  at  Lakeside,  on  their  return  journey  to  St.  Louis.  In  ad* 


280  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

dition  to  the  pleasure  he  derived  from  their  society,  he  had  a 
secret  desire  that  Mrs.  Blake  should  see  Hannah  Thurston — a 
curiosity  to  know  the  impression  which  the  two  women  would 
make  on  each  other.  What  deeper  motive  lurked  behind  this, 
he  did  not  question. 

The  discussion  of  the  proposal  reminded  him  that  he  had 
not  heard  from  Lakeside  since  his  departure.  He  immediately 
wrote  to  Arbutus  Wilson,  announcing  his  speedy  return,  and 
asking  for  news  of  the  farming  operations.  Six  days  after- 
wards an  answer  carne,  not  from  Arbutus,  but  from  Mr. 
Waldo — an  answer  of  a  nature  so  unexpected,  that  he  left 
Saratoga  the  same  night. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  281 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

IN   WHICH   TROUBLE   COMES   TO    LAKESIDE. 

AFTER  Woodbury  had  left  Lakeside  for  his  summer  tour, 
Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  resumed  her  ancient  authority.  "  Now," 
she  said  to  Bute,  as  they  sat  down  to  supper  on  the  day  of 
his  departure,  "now  we'll  have  a  quiet  time  of  it.  Abody'll 
know  what  to  do  without  waitin'  to  be  told  whether  it's  jist 
to  other  people's  likin's." 

"  Why,  Mother  Forty,"  said  Bute,  "  Mr.  Max.  is  as  quiet  a 
man  as  you'll  find  anywhere." 

"Much  you  know  about  him,  Bute.  He  lets  you  go  on 
farmin'  in  y'r  own  way,  pretty  much  ;  but  look  at  my  gard'n — • 
tore  all  to  pieces !  The  curran'  bushes  away  at  t'other  end — 
half  a  mile  off,  if  you  want  to  git  a  few  pies — and  the  kersan- 
thums  stuck  into  the  yard  in  big  bunches,  among  the  grass ! 
What  would  she  say,  if  she  could  see  it?  And  the  little 
room  for  bed-clo'es,  all  cleaned  out,  and  a  big  bathin'  tub  in 
the  corner,  and  to  be  filled  up  every  night.  Thank  the  Lord, 
he  can't  find  nothin'  to  say  ag'in  my  cookin'.  If  he  was  to 
come  pokin'  his  nose  into  the  kitchen  every  day,  I  dunno  what 
I'd  do !" 

"It's  his  own  garden,"  said  Bute,  sturdily.  "He's  paid  for 
it,  and  he's  got  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleases  with  it.  1 
would,  if  't'was  mine." 

"  Oh  yes,  you!  You're  gittin'  mighty  independent,  seems 
to  me.  I  'xpect  nothin'  else  but  you'll  go  off  some  day  with 
that  reedic'lous  thing  with  the  curls." 

"Mother   Forty!"    said   Bute,   rising   suddenly   from   the 


282  HANNAH   THTJESTON  I 

table,  "  don't  you  mention  her  name  ag'in.  I  don't  want  to 
see  her  any  more,  nor  I  don't  want  to  hear  of  her !" 

He  strode  out  of  the  house  with  a  fiery  face.  Mrs.  Babb 
sat,  as  if  thunderstruck.  Little  by  little,  however,  a  presenti- 
ment of  the  truth  crept  through  her  stiff  brain :  she  drew  her 
thin  lips  firmly  together  and  nodded  her  head.  The  sense  of 
relief  which  she  first  felt,  on  Bute's  account,  was  soon  lost, 
nevertheless,  in  an  angry  feeling  toward  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth. 
Utterly  unaware  of  her  own  inconsistency,  she  asked  herself 
what  the  little  fool  meant  by  turning  up  her  nose  at  such  a 
fine  young  fellow  as  Arbutus — the  very  pick  of  the  farmers 
about  Ptolemy,  though  she,  Fortitude  Babb,  said  it !  Where 
would  she  find  a  man  so  well-built  and  sound,  so  honest  and 
good-hearted?  Everybody  liked  him;  there  were  plenty  of 
girls  that  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  having  him  for  a  hus- 
band— but  no,  he  was  not  good  enough  for  her.  Ugh !  the 
nasty,  pert,  stuck-up  little  hussy  !  That  comes  o'  wearin'  your 
hair  like  an  Injun !  But  Arbutus  mustn't  mind ;  there's  as  good 
fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  was  ketched,  and  better  too.  'Twas 
reasonable,  after  all,  that  he  should  marry  some  time ;  a  man's 
a  man,  though  you  brought  him  up  yourself;  and  the  best 
way  is  to  take  hold  and  help,  when  you  can't  hinder  it. 

Thereupon,  she  set  her  wits  to  work  to  discover  the  right 
kind  of  a  wife  for  her  step-step-son.  It  was  a  perplexing  sub- 
ject :  one  girl  was  slatternly,  another  was  unhealthy,  a  third 
was  too  old,  a  fourth  had  disagreeable  relatives,  a  fifth  was  as 
poor  as  Job's  turkey.  Where  was  the  compound  of  youth, 
health,  tidiness,  thrift,  and,  most  important  of  all,  the  proper 
respect  for  Mrs.  Babb's  faculties  ?  "  I'll  find  her  yet !"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  sat  at  her  knitting,  in  the  drowsy  summer  after- 
noons. f  Meanwhile,  her  manner  towards  Bute  grew  kinder 
and  more  considerate — a  change  for  which  he  was  not  in  the 
least  grateful.  He  interpreted  it  as  the  expression  of  her 
satisfaction  Avith  the  disappointment  under  which  he  still 
smarted.  He  became  moody  and  silent,  and  before  many  days 
had  elapsed  Mrs.  Babb  was  forced  to  confess  to  herself  that 


A    STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  283 

Lakeside  was  lonely  and  uncomfortable  without  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Woodbury. 

As  for  Bute,  though  he  felt  that  he  was  irritable  and  heavy, 
compared  with  his  usual  cheerful  mood,  there  was  more  the 
matter  with  him  than  he  supposed.  The  experience  through 
which  he  had  passed  disturbed  the  quiet  course  of  his  blood. 
Like  a  mechanism,  the  action  of  which  is  even  and  perfectly 
balanced  at  a  certain  rate  of  speed,  but  tends  to  inevitable  con- 
fusion when  the  speed  is  increased,  his  physical  balance  was 
sadly  disarranged  by  the  excitement  of  his  emotional  nature 
and  the  sudden  shock  which  followed  it.  Days  of  feverish 
activity,  during  which  he  did  the  work  of  two  men  without 
finding  the  comfort  of  healthy  fatigue,  were  followed  by  days 
of  weariness  and  apathy,  when  the  strength  seemed  to  be  gone 
from  his  arm,  and  the  good-will  to  labor  from  his  heart.  His 
sleep  was  either  restless  and  broken,  or  so  unnaturally  pro- 
found that  he  arose  from  it  with  a  stunned,  heavy  head. 

Among  the  summer's  work  which  Mr.  Woodbury  had  or- 
dered, after  wheat-harvest,  was  the  draining  of  a  swampy  field 
which  sloped  towards  Roaring  Brook.  An  Irish  ditcher  had 
been  engaged  to  work  upon  it,  but  Bute,  finding  that  much 
more  must  be  done  than  had  been  estimated,  and  restless 
almost  to  nervousness,  assisted  with  his  own  hands.  Day 
after  day,  with  his  legs  bare  to  the  thighs,  he  stood  in  the  oozy 
muck,  plying  pick  and  shovel  under  the  burning  sun.  Night 
after  night,  he  went  to  bed  with  a  curiously  numb  and  dead- 
ened feeling,  varied  only  by  nervous  starts  and  thrills,  as  if  the 
bed  were  suddenly  sinking  under  him. 

One  morning,  he  did  not  get  up  at  the  usual  hour.  Mrs. 
Babb  went  on  with  her  labors  for  breakfast,  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  him  come  down  and  wash  his  face  at  the  pump 
outside  the  kitchen-door.  The  bacon  was  fried,  the  coffee  was 
boiled,  and  still  he  did  not  appear.  She  opened  the  door  of 
the  kitchen  staircase,  and  called  in  her  shrillest  tones,  one, 
two,  three  times,  until  finally  an  answer  reached  her  from 
the  bedroom.  Five  minutes  afterwards,  Bute  blundered 


284  HANNAH  THTJESTON: 


down  the  steps,  and,  seeing  the  table  ready,  took  his  accus- 
tomed seafi. 

"  Well,  Arbutus,  you  have  slep',  sure  enough.  I  s'pose  you 
was  tired  from  yisterday,  though,"  said  Mrs.  Babb,  as  she 
transferred  the  bacon  from  the  frying-pan  to  a  queensware 
dish.  Hearing  no  answer,  she  turned  around.  "  Gracious 
alive  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  are  you  a-goin'  to  set  down  to  break- 
fast without  washin'  or  combin'  your  hair  ?  I  do  believe 
you're  asleep  yit." 

Bute  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  her  with  a  silly  smile  which 
seemed  to  confirm  her  words. 

"Arbutus!"  she  cried  out,  "wake  up!  Tou  don't  know 
what  you're  about.  Dash  some  water  on  your  face,  child  ;  if 
I  ever  saw  the  like  !"  and  she  took  hold  of  his  shoulder  with 
one  of  her  bony  hands. 

He  twisted  it  petulantly  out  of  her  grasp.  "  I'm  tired, 
Mike,"  he  said  :  "  if  the  swamp  wasn't  so  wet,  I'd  like  to  lay 
down  and  sleep  a  spell." 

The  rigid  joints  of  Mrs.  Babb's  knees  seemed  to  give  way 
suddenly.  She  dropped  into  the  chair  beside  him,  lifted  his 
face  in  both  her  trembling  hands,  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 
There  was  no  recognition  in.  them,  and  their  wild,  wandering 
glance  froze  her  blood.  His  cheeks  burned  like  fire,  and  his 
head  dropped  heavily,  the  next  moment,  on  his  shoulder.  "  This 
tussock'll  do,"  he  murmured,  and  relapsed  into  unconsciousness. 

Mrs.  Babb  shoved  her  chair  nearer,  and  allowed  his  head  to 
rest  on  her  shoulder,  while  she  recovered  her  strength.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  house.  Patrick,  the  field-hand,  was  at 
the  barn,  and  was  accustomed  to  be  called  to  his  breakfast. 
Once  she  attempted  to  do  this,  hoping  that  her  voice  might 
reach  him,  but  it  was  such  an  unnatural,  dismal  croak,  that  she 
gave  up  in  despair.  Bute  started  and  flung  one  arm  around 
her  neck  with  a  convulsive  strength  which  almost  strangled  her. 
After  that,  she  did  not  dare  to  move  or  speak.  The  coffee-pot 
boiled  over,  and  the  scent  of  the  scorched  liquid  filled  the 
kitchen  ;  the  fat  in  the  frying-pan,  which  she  had  thought- 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  285 

lessly  set  on  the  stove  again,  on  seeing  Bute,  slowly  dried  to 
a  crisp,  and  she  knew  that  the  bottom  of  the  pan  would  be 
ruined.  These  minor  troubles  strangely  thrust  themselves 
athwart  the  one  great,  overwhelming  trouble  of  her  heart,  and 
confused  her  thoughts.  Bute  was  deathly  sick,  and  stark, 
staring  mad,  was  the  only  fact  which  she  could  realize ;  and 
with  her  left  hand,  which  was  free,  she  gradually  and  stealth- 
ily removed,  his  knife,  fork,  and  plate,  and  pushed  back  the 
table-cloth  as  far  as  she  could  reach.  Then  she  sat  rigidly  as 
before,  listening  to  the  heavy,  irregular  breathing  of  the  inva- 
lid, and  scorched  by  his  burning  head. 

Half  an  hour  passed  before  Patrick's  craving  stomach 
obliged  him  to  disregard  the  usual  call.  Perhaps,  he  finally 
thought,  he  had  not  heard  it,  and  he  then  betook  himself  at 
once  to  the  house.  The  noise  he  made  in  opening  the  kitchen- 
door,  startled  Bute,  who  clinched  his  right  fist  and  brought  it 
down  on  the  table. 

"  Holy  mother !"  exclaimed  Patrick,  as  he  saw  the'  singular 
group. 

Mrs.  Babb  turned  her  head  with  difficulty,  and  shook  it  as 
a  sign  of  caution,  looking  at  him  with  wide,  suffering  eyes, 
from  which  the  tears  now  first  flowed,  when  she  saw  that  help 
and  sympathy  had  come  to  her  at  last. 

"God  preserve  us!  och,  an'  he  isn't  dead?"  whispered 
Patrick,  advancing  a  step  nearer,  and  ready  to  burst  into  a 
loud  wail. 

"  He's  sick !  he's  crazy !"  Mrs.  Babb  breathed  hoarsely,  in 
reply :  "help  me  to  git  him  to  bed  !" 

The  Irishman  supported  Bute  by  the  shoulders,  while  Mrs. 
Babb  gently  and  cautiously  relieved  herself  from  his  choking 
arm.  Without  Pat's  help  it  is  difficult  to  say  what  she  would 
have  done.  Tender  as  a  woman,  and  gifted  with  all  the  whimsi- 
cal cunning  of  his  race,  he  humored  Bute's  delirious  fancies  to 
the  utmost,  soothing  instead  of  resisting  or  irritating  him,  and 
with  infinite  patience  and  difficulty  succeeded  in  getting  him 
back  into  his  bedroom.  Here  Mrs.  Babb  remade  his  bed,  put- 


286  HANNAH    THUKSTOX: 

ting  on  fresh  sheets  and  pillows,  and  the  two  undressed  and  laid 
nim  in  it.  The  first  thing  she  then  did  was  to  cut  off  his  long 
yellow  locks  close  to  the  head,  and  apply  a  wet  cloth ;  beyond 
that,  which  she  had  heard  was  always  used  in  such  cases,  she 
did  not  dare  to  go. 

The  next  thing  was,  to  procure  medical  assistance.  There 
were  no  other  persons  about  the  house,  and  both  of  them 
together,  it  seemed  probable,  would  scarcely  be  able  to  man- 
age the  patient,  if  a  violent  paroxysm  should  come  on.  Mrs. 
Babb  insisted  on  remaining  by  him ;  but  Patrick,  who  had 
seen  similar  attacks  of  fever,  would  not  consent  to  this.  He 
swore  by  all  the  saints  that  she  would  find  Bute  safely  in  bed 
on  her  return.  She  need  not  go  farther  than  black  Melinda's 
cabin,  he  said ;  it  was  not  over  three-quarters  of  a  mile.  She 
could  send  Melinda  for  the  doctor,  and  for  Misther  Merryfield 
too — that  'ud  be  better ;  and  then  come  directly  back,  herself. 

Mrs.  Babb  gave  way  to  these  representations,  and  hurried 
forth  on 'her  errand.  Her  stiff  old  joints  cracked  with  the 
violence  of  her  motion  ;  she  was  agitated  by  remorse  as  well 
as  anxiety.  She  had  been  a  little  hard  on  the  lad  ;  what  if  he 
should  die  without  forgiving  her,  and  should  go  straight  to 
heaven  (as  of  course  he  would)  and  tell  his  own  mother  and 
Jason  Babb,  who  was  so  fond  of  him  ?  In  that  case,  Jason 
would  certainly  be  angry  with  her,  and  perhaps  would  not 
allow  her  to  sit  beside  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Golden  City, 
when  her  time  came.  Fortunately,  she  found  old  Melinda 
at  home,  and  despatched  her  with  the  injunction  to  "go  down 
to  MeVryfield's  as  hard  as  you  can  scoot,  and  tell  him  to  ride  for 
the  doctor,  and  then  you  come  directly  back  to  the  house." 
Melinda  at  once  strode  away,  with  her  eyes  fixed  before  her, 
muttering  fragments  of  camp-meeting  hymns. 

When  Mrs.  Babb  returned,  she  found  Bute  still  in  bed,  pant- 
ing from  evident  exhaustion.  The  wet  cloth  was  on  his  head 
and  the  bed-clothes  were  straight.  Patrick  turned  away  his 
face  from  the  light,  and  said  :  "  Sure,  an'  he's  been  as  quiet  as 
a  lamb" — an  assertion  which  was  disproved  the  next  day  by 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  287 

the  multitude  of  indigo  blotches,  the  marks  of  terrible  blows, 
which  appeared  on  his  own  face,  breast,  and  arms.  What  hap- 
pened while  they  were  alone,  Patrick  always  avoided  telling, 
except  to  the  priest.  To  his  mind,  there  was  a  sanctity  about 
delirium,  the  secrets  of  which  it  would  be  criminal  to  betray. 

In  two  or  three  hours  more  the  physician  arrived,  accom- 
panied by  Merryfield.  The  former  pronounced  Bute  to  be 
laboring  under  a  very  dangerous  attack  of  congestive  fever,  of 
a  typhoid  character.  He  bled  him  sufficiently  to  reduce  the 
excitement  of  the  brain,  prescribed  the  usual  medicines,  a  little 
increased  in  quantity,  and  recommended  great  care  and  exact- 
ness in  administering  them.  When  he  descended  the  stairs, 
the  housekeeper  stole  after  him,  and  grasped  his  arm  as  he 
entered  the  hall. 

"  Doctor,"  she  asked,  in  her  stern  manner,  "  I  jist  want  to 
know  the  truth.  Is  he  goin'  to  git  over  it,  or  isn't  he  ?" 

"  The  chances  are  about  even,  Mrs.  Babb,"  the  physician  re- 
plied. "  I  will  not  disguise  from  you  the  fact  that  it's  a  very 
serious  case.  If  his  constitution  were  not  so  fine,  I  should  feel 
almost  like  giving  him  up.  I  will  only  say  this :  if  we  can 
keep  him  for  a  week,  without  growing  much  worse,  we  shall 
get  the  upper  hand  of  the  fever.  It  depends  on  his  nurses, 
even  more  than  on  me." 

'•'•Til  nuss  him!"  Mrs.  Babb  exclaimed,  defiantly.  "A  week, 
did  you  say  ?  A  week  a'n't  a  life-time,  and  I  can  stand  it.  I 
stood  more'n  that,  when  Jason  was  sick.  Don't  be  concerned 
about  your  orders,  Sir :  I'VE  TOOK  'EM  TO  HEART,  and  that's 
enough  said."  r 

The  housekeeper  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  clinching  her 
fists  and  nodding  her  head — the  meaning  of  which  was,  that 
there  was  to  be  a  fair  stand-up  fight  between  Death  and  her 
self,  for  the  possession  of  Arbutus  Wilson,  and  that  Death  was 
not  going  to  be  the  victor,  no,  not  if  he  took  herself  instead, 
out  of  spite.  Then  and  there  she  commenced  her  plan  of  de- 
fence. Those  precautions  which  the  physician  had  recommend- 
ed were  taken  with  a  Draconian  severity :  what  he  had  forbid- 


288  HANNAH   THFKSTO^I 

den  ceased  to  have  a  possibility  of  existence.  Quiet,  of  course, 
was  included  in  his  orders,  and  never  was  a  household  con- 
ducted with  so  little  noise.  The  sable  Melinda,  having  let  a 
pot-lid  fall  on  the  kitchen-floor,  found  her  arm  instantly  grasp- 
ed in  a  bony  vice,  while  an  awful  voice  whispered  in  her  ear 
(Mrs.  Babb  had  ceased  to  speak  otherwise,  even  when  she 
went  to  the  garden) — "  Don't  you  dare  to  do  that  ag'in  !"  She 
prepared  and  applied  the  blisters  and  poultices  with  her 
own  hands ;  administered  the  medicines  punctually  to  the 
second,  whether  by  day  or  by  night ;  and  the  invalid  could  not 
turn  in  his  bed  but  she  seemed  to  know  it,  by  some  sort  of 
clairvoyance,  in  whatever  part  of  the  house  she  might  be  at 
the  time.  At  night,  although  Patrick  and  Mr.  Merry  field  vol- 
unteered to  watch  by  turns,  and  tried  to  induce  her  to  sleep, 
she  never  undressed,  but  lay  down  on  her  bed  in  an  adjoining 
chamber,  and  made  her  appearance  in  the  sick-room,  tall,  dark, 
and  rigid,  every  half-hour.  She  would  listen  with  a  fearful 
interest  to  Bute's  ravings,  whether  profane  or  passionate, 
dreading  to  hear  some  accusation  of  herself,  which,  if  he  died, 
he  would  bear  straight  to  Jason  Babb.  Her  words,  however, 
had  made  but  the  slightest  surface- wounds  on  Bute's  sturdy 
nature.  No  accusation  or  reproach  directed  towards  her 
passed  his  lips ;  Miss  Dilworth's  name,  it  is  true,  was  some- 
times mentioned,  but  more  in  anger  than  in  love  ;  but  his  mind 
ran  principally  on  farming  matters,  mixed  with  much  incohe- 
rent talk,  to  which  Patrick  only  appeared  to  have  the  clue. 
The  latter,  at  least,  was  generally  able  to  exercise  a  guidance 
over  his  hallucinations,  and  to  lead  them  from  the  more  violent 
to  the  gentler  phases. 

Half  the  week  was  gone,  and  no  change  could  be  detected 
in  the  invalid's  condition.  The  powerful  assault  of  disease 
had  met  as  powerful  a  resisting  nature,  and  the  struggle  con- 
tinued, with  no  marked  signs  of  weariness  on  either  side. 
Much  sympathy  was  felt  by  the  neighbors,  when  the  news 
became  known,  and  there  were  kind  offers  of  assistance.  The 
physician,  however,  judged  that  the  attendance  was  already 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  289 

sufficient,  and  as  the  fever  was  contagious  in  many  cases,  he 
recommended  that  there  should  be  as  few  nurses  as  possible. 
The  sympathy  then  took  the  for.ii  of  recipes  (every  one  of 
which  was  infallible),  dried  herbs,  jellies,  oranges,  and  the  like. 
Mr.  Jones,  the  miller,  even  sent  a  pair  of  trout,  which  he  had 
caught  in  Roaring  Brook.  The  housekeeper  received  all  these 
articles  with  stern  thanks,  and  then  locked  them  up  in  her 
cupboard,  saying  to  herself,  "'Ta'n't  time  for  sich  messes  yet: 
Zcan  git  all  he  wants,  jist  now." 

Slowly  the  week  drew  to  a  close,  and  Mrs.  Babb  grew  more 
anxious  and  excited.  The  unusual  strain  upon  her  old  frame 
began  to  tell;  she  felt  her  strength  going,  and  yet  the  ago- 
nizing suspense  in  regard  to  Bute's  fate  must  be  quieted  be- 
fore she  could  allow  it  to  give  way  altogether.  Her  back  kept 
its  straightness  from  long  habit,  but  her  knees  tottered  under 
her  every  time  she  mounted  the  stairs,  and  the  muscles  around 
her  mouth  began  to  twitch  and  relax,  in  spite  of  herself.  She 
no  longer  questioned  the  physician,  but  silently  watched  his 
face  as  he  came  from  Bute's  room,  and  waited  for  him  to 
speak. 

On  the  seventh  day,  what  little  information  he  voluntarily 
gave  afforded  no  relief  to  her  mind,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
iron  will  which  had  upheld  her  thus  far  began  to  waver.  A 
weariness  which,  it  seemed  to  her,  no  amount  of  sleep  could 
ever  heal,  assailed  her  during  the  night.  Slowly  she  struggled 
on  until  morning,  and  through  the  eighth  day  until  late  in  the 
efternoon,  when  the  physician  came.  This  time,  as  he  left  the 
sick-room,  she  detected  a  slight  change  in  his  expression. 
Walking  slowly  towards  him,  striving  to  conceal  her  weakness 
and  emotion,  she  said,  brokenly : 

"Can  you  tell  me  now?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  promise."  he  answered,  "  but  there  is  a 
chance  now  that  the  fever  will  exhaust  itself,  before  quite  all 
the  power  of  rallying  afterwards  has  been  spent.  He. is  not 
out  of  danger,  but  the  prospects  of  his  recovery  are  better 
than  they  were,  two  to  one.  If  he  gets  well,  your  nursing, 
••a 


290  HAISHSTAH    THITESTON  I 

Mrs.  Babb,  will  have  saved  him.  I  wish  all  ray  patients  could 
have  you." 

The  housekeeper  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  gave 
vent  to  her  feelings  in  a  single  hoarse,  dry  sob.  When  the 
doctor  had  gone,  Melinda  put  the  teapot  on  the  table,  arranged 
the  cups  and  saucers,  and  said :  "  Come,  now,  Miss  Forty, 
you  take  a  cup.  I  sure  you  needs  ura ;  you  jiss'  killin'  you'self, 
honey." 

Mrs.  Babb  attempted  to  comply :  she  lifted  the  saucer  to 
her  lips,  and  then  set  it  down  again.  She  felt,  suddenly,  very 
faint  and  sick,  and  the  next  moment  an  icy  chill  seized  her, 
and  shook  her  from  head  to  foot :  her  lips  were  blue,  and  her 
seven  remaining  teeth  rattled  violently  together.  Meliuda, 
alarmed,  flew  to  her  assistance  ;  but  she  pushed  her  back  with 
her  long,  thin  arm,  saying,  "  I  knowed  it  must  come  so.  One 
of  us  had  got  to  go.  He'll  git  well,  now." 

"  Oh,  Missus !"  cried  Melinda,  and  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head. 

"  Where's  the  use,  Melindy  ?"  said  the  housekeeper,  sternly. 
tw  I  guess  sAe'll  be  glad  of  it :  she'd  kind  o'  got  used  to  havin' 
me  with  her." 

Even  yet,  she  did  not  wholly  succumb  to  the  attack.  De- 
liberately forcing  herself  to  drink  two  cups  of  hot  tea,  in  order 
to  break  the  violence  of  the  chill,  she  slowly  crept  up  stairs  to 
Bute's  room,  where  Patrick  was  in  attendance.  Him  she  de- 
spatched at  once  to  Ptolemy,  with  a  message  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Waldo,  whom  she  requested  to  come  at  as  early  an  hour  as 
possible.  She  sent  no  word  to  the  physician,  but  the  old  Me- 
linda had  shrewdness  enough  to  discover  this  omission  and 
supply  it. 

Wrapped  in  a  blanket,  Mrs.  Babb  took  her  seat  in  the  old- 
fashioned  rocking-chair  at  Bute's  bedside,  and  looked  long 
and  earnestly  on  his  worn  face,  in  the  last  light  of  day.  What 
had  become  of  the  warm,  red  blood  which  had  once  painted 
his  round  cheeks,  showing  itself  defiantly  through  the  tan 
of  all  the  suns  of  summer  ?  Blood  and  tan  seemed  to  have 


A    STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  291 

buddenly  vanished  together,  leaving  a  waxen  paleness  and  a 
sunken,  pinched  expression,  so  much  like  death,  that  his  rest- 
less movements  and  mutterings  comforted  her,  because  they 
denoted  life.  "  Yes,  there's  life  in  him  still !"  she  whispered 
to  herself.  Presently  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  her. 
The  fierceness  of  his  delirium  had  been  .broken,  but  his  expres- 
sion was  still  strange  and  troubled. 

"  I  guess  we'll  begin  the  oats  to-day,  Pat,"  he  said,  in  a  weak 
voice. 

"Arbutus!"  she  cried,  "look  at  me!  Don't  you  know 
Mother  Forty  no  more  ?" 

"  Mother  Forty's  gittin'  breakfast,"  said  he,  staring  at  her. 

"  Oh,  Arbutus,"  she  groaned,  desperately  ;  "  do  try  to  know 
me  this  once't !  I'm  mortal  sick :  I'm  a-goin'  to  die.  If  there's 
anything  on  y'r  mind  ag'in  me,  can't  you  say  you  forgive  me?" 
And  the  poor  old  creature  began  to  cry  in  a  noiseless  way. 

"  I  forgive  you,  Miss  Carrie,"  answered  Bute,  catching  at 
the  word  "  forgive."  "  'Ta'n't  worth  mindin'.  You're  a  little 
fool,  and  I'm  a  big  one,  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Babb  did  not  try  again.  She  leaned  back  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair, folding  the  blanket  more  closely  around  her,  to  keep 
off  the  constantly  recurring  chills,  and  husbanding  her  failing 
strength  to  perform  the  slight  occasional  offices  which  the  in- 
valid required.  Thus  she  sat  until  Patrick's  return,  when  the 
negress  helped  her  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  the  physician  found  her  in  a  pitiable 
state  of  debility,  but  with  a  mind  as  clear  and  determined  as 
ever.  Her  physical  energies  were  completely  broken,  and  the 
prospect  of  supporting  them  artificially  until  the  fever  should 
subside,  seemed  very  slight.  She  understood  the  grave  con- 
cern upon  his  face.  "  You  needn't  tell  me,  doctor,"  she  said  ; 
"  I  know  all  about  it.  I'll  take  the  medicines,  to  make  your 
mind  easy ;  but  it's  no  use." 

Mr.  Waldo  arriving  about  the  same  time,  she  begged  the 
physician  to  wait  until  she  had  had  an  interview  with  the 
former.  He  had  been  summoned  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 


292  HANNAH   THTJESTON  : 

draw  up  her  will,  the  signing  of  which  she  wished  both  gentle- 
men to  witness.  The  document  was  soon  prepared.  She  be- 
queathed all  she  possessed  to  Arbutus  Wilson,  her  adopted  son, 
after  deducting  the  expenses  of  her  funeral,  and  a  tombstone 
similar  to  that  which  she  had  erected  to  the  memory  of  Jason 
Babb. 

Propped  up  in  bed,  she  carefully  went  over  the  various 
sums,  obliging  Mr.  Waldo  to  repeat  them  after  her  and  read 
them  aloud  as  he  wrote  them,  in  order  that  there  might  be  no 
mistake.  "  There's  the  four  hundred  dollars  Jason  left  me," 
said  she,  "  out  at  interest  with  David  Van  Horn ;  then  the  mor- 
gidge  for  a  thousand  dollars  on  Wilmot's  store  ;  then  the  three 
hundred  she  willed  to  me,  two  hundred  lent  to  Backus,  and 
two  hundred  and  fifty  to  Dan'el  Stevens ; — let  alone  the  int'rest 
what  I've  saved.  You'll  find  there'd  ought  to  be  twenty-seven 
hundred  and  four  dollars  and  six  shillin's,  altogether.  The  notes 
is  all  in  my  tin  box,  and  the  int'rest  tied  up  in  my  weddiii' 
stockins  in  the  big  trunk.  I  got  it  turned  into  gold:  the  banks  is 
breakin'  all  the  time.  It's  enough  to  give  Arbutus  a  good  start 
in  the  world — a  heap  better'n  either  me  or  Jason  had.  Put  it 
into  the  will  that  he's  to  be  savin'  and  keerful,  for 'twas  got  by 
hard  work.  I  know  he  won't  spend  it  for  hisself,  but  he's  to 
keep  it  out  drawin'  int'rest,  and  if  he  gits  married,  he  mustn't 
let  his  wife  put  it  onto  her  back.  And  you  may  put  down  my 
blessin',  and  that  I've  tried  to  bring  him  up  in  the  right  way 
and  hope  he  won't  depart  from  it." 

The  will  was  finally  completed.  With  a  strong  effort,  she 
signed  it  with  a  cramped,  but  steady  hand.  The  physician 
and  clergyman  affixed  their  signatures  as  witnesses.  "  Now 
I'm  ready,"  whispered  Mrs.  Babb,  sinking  down  on  the  pil- 
lows, and  almost  instantly  fell  asleep. 

As  the  two  gentlemen  issued  from  the  house,  the  physician 
said  :  "  We  must  get  somebody  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Mr.  Waldo.  "  She  cannot  bo  in- 
trusted to  old  Melinda,  Leave  it  to  me :  I  will  see  that  there 
is  a  good  nurse  in  the  house  before  night." 


A   STOBT   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  293 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHICH   CONTAINS   BOTH   I^VE   AND   DEATH. 

GOOD  Mr.  Waldo  drove  back  to  Ptolemy  seriously  trou- 
bled by  the  calamity  which  had  come  upon  the  household 
of  Lakeside.  Its  helpless  condition,  now  that  the  housekeeper 
was  struck  down,  rendered  immediate  assistance  necessary ; 
but  whence  was  the  help  to  come  ?  He  could  think  of  no 
woman  at  the  same  time  willing  and  competent  to  render  it — 
except  his  wife — and  on  her  rested  the  entire  care  of  his  own 
house,  as  they  were  unable  to  afford  a  servant.  The  benevo- 
lent clergyman  actually  deliberated  whether  he  should  not  let 
her  go,  and  ask  the  hospitality  of  one  of  his  parishioners  during 
her  absence,  in  case  no  other  nurse  could  be  found. 

As  he  turned  into  the  short  private  lane  leading  to  his 
stable,  a  rapid  little  figure,  in  pink  muslin,  entered  the  front 
yara.  It  was  Miss  Caroline  Dilworth,  who  had  just  returned 
from  a  farm-house  on  the  road  to  Mulligan sville,  where  she 
had  been  sewing  for  a  fortnight  past.  She  entered  the  plain 
little  sitting-room  at  the  same  moment  with  Mr.  Waldo.  The 
clergyman's  wife  greeted  her  w^ith  astonishing  brevity,  and 
turned  immediately  to  her  husband. 

"  What  was  the  matter  ?"  she  asked  ;  "  is  Bute  so  much 
worse  ?" 

"  Bute  worse  !"  ejaculated  Miss  Dilworth,  opening  her  eyes 
in  amazement. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  answering  his  wife,  "the  doctor 
thinks  his  chance  is  a  little  better,  though  he  is  still  out  of  his 
head ;  but  she  has  the  fever  now,  and  her  case  seems  worse 
than  his.  I  am  distressed  about  them  :  there  is  nobody  there 


294  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  : 

except  the  old  negro  woman,  and  Mrs.  Babb  needs  a  careful 
nurse  immediately." 

"  What  is  it  ?  Do  tell  me  what  it  is  ?"  cried  Miss  Dilworth, 
catching  hold  of  the  clergyman's  arm  with  both  hands. 

He  explained  the  case  to  her  in  a  few  words.  To  the  aston- 
ishment of  both,  the  little  sempstress  burst  into  a  violent  flood 
of  tears.  For  a  minute  or  two  the  agitation  was  so  great  that 
she  was  unable  to  speak. 

"  It's  d-dreadful !"  she  sobbed  at  last.  "  Why— why  didn't 
you  send  w-word  to  me  ?  But  I'll  g-go  now :  don't  put  out 
your  horse  :  take — take  me  there  !" 

"  Carrie  !  do  you  really  mean  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Waldo. 

Miss  Caroline  Dilworth  actually  stamped  her  foot.  "  Do 
you  think  I'd  make  fun  about  it  ?"  she  cried.  "  Yes,  I  mean 
to  go,  if  I  must  go  a-foot.  He — they  must  have  somebody,  and 
there's  nobody  can  go  so  well  as  I  can." 

"  I  think  she  is  right,  wife,"  said  the  clergyman. 

Mrs.  Waldo  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  know  you  would 
be  kind  and  careful,  Carrie,"  she  said  at  length,  "  and  I  could 
come  every  day,  and  relieve  you  for  a  while.  But  are  you  sure 
you  are  strong  enough  for  the  task  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  dried  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  and 
answered  :  "  If  I'm  not,  you'll  soon  find  it  out.  I'm  going 
over  to  Friend  Thurston's  to  get  some  of  my  things  to  take 
along." 

"  I'll  call  for  you  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  with  the  buggy," 
said  Mr.  Waldo. 

The  little  sempstress  was  off  without  saying  good-by.  As 
she  went  down  the  plank  walk  towards  the  Widow  Thurston's 
cottage,  she  pushed  her  tangled  curls  behind  her  ears>  and  then 
held  her  hands  clenched  at  her  side,  too  much  in  earnest  to 
give  her  head  a  single  toss  or  allow  her  feet  a  single  mincing 
step.  All  the  latent  firmness  in  her  lithe  figure  was  suddenly 
developed.  It  spoke  in  her  rapid,  elastic  gait,  in  the  com- 
pression of  the  short  red  lips,  and  the  earnest  forward  glance 
of  her  eyes,  under  their  uplifted  lids.  During  the  spring  and 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  295 

summer  she  had  been  gradually  coming  to  the  conviction  that 
she  had  treated  Bute  Wilson  shamefully.  The  failure  of  the 
little  arts  which  she  had  formerly  employed  with  so  much  suc- 
cess had  hastened  this  conviction.  The  softest  drooping  of  her 
eyes,  the  gentlest  drawl  of  her  voice,  ceased  to  move  him  from 
his  cold,  grave  indifference.  She  began  to  feel  that  these 
charms  only  acquired  their  potency  through  the  sentiments  of 
those  upon  whom  they  were  exercised.  Had  she  not  again 
and  again  cast  them  forth  as  nets,  only  to  haul  them  in  at  last 
without  having  entrapped  the  smallest  fish  ? 

Besides,  in  another  way,  her  ambition  had  suffered  a  severe 
check.  The  mistress  of  the  school  at  Mulligansville  having 
fallen  sick,  Miss  Dil worth  took  her  place  for  a  fortnight.  Her 
first  sense  of  triumph  in  having  attained  what  she  considered 
to  be  her  true  mission,  even  as  the  proxy  of  another,  did  not 
last  long.  For  a  day  or  two,  the  novelty  of  her  appearance 
kept  the  school  quiet ;  but,  one  by  one,  the  rude  country  chil- 
dren became  familiar  with  her  curls,  with  her  soft  green  eyes, 
and  her  unauthoritative  voice.  They  grinned  in  answer  to  her 
smile  and  met  her  frown  with  unconcealed  derision  ;  they  ate 
green  apples  before  her  very  face ;  pulled  each  other's  hair  or 
tickled  each  other  under  the  arms ;  drew  pictures  on  their 
slates  and  upset  the  inkstands  over  their  copy-books.  The 
bigger  boys  and  girls  threw  saucy  notes  at  each  other  across 
the  whole  breadth  of  the  school-room.  They  came  to  her  with 
"  sums"  which  she  found  herself  unable  to  solve ;  they  read 
with  loud,  shrill  voices  and  shocking  pronunciation  ;  and  when 
the  hour  for  dismissal  came,  instead  of  retiring  quietly,  they 
sprang  from  their  benches  with  frightful  whooping  and  rushed 
tumultuously  out  of  the  house.  The  "  beautiful  humanity"  of 
the  occupation,  which  she  had  heard  so  extolled,  burst  like  a 
painted  bubble,  leaving  no  trace ;  the  "  moral  suasion,"  on 
which  she  relied  for  maintaining  discipline,  failed  her  utterly  ; 
the  "  reciprocal  love"  between  teacher  and  pupil,  which  she 
fancied  she  would  develop  in  the  highest  degree,  resolved  it- 
self into  hideous  contempt  on  the  one  side  and  repugnance  on 


296  HANNAH    THUESTOlSr: 

the  other.  She  was  finally  indebted  to  one  of  the  biggest  and 
coarsest  of  the  boys — a  fellow  who  almost  made  her  tremble 
every  time  he  came  near  her — for  sufficient  help  to  prevent 
the  school  from  falling  into  chaos  before  the  fortnight  came  to 
an  end.  This  boy,  who  was  the  bully  of  the  school,  and  whose 
voice  had  a  cracked  hoarseness  denoting  the  phase  of  develop- 
ment through  which  he  was  passing,  was  impressed  with  a 
vague  respect  for  her  curls  and  her  complexion,  and  chivalrous- 
ly threw  his  influence,  including  his  fists,  on  her  side.  It  was 
not  pleasant,  however,  to  hear  the  older  girls  giggle  and  whis- 
per when  he  came :  "  There's  the  mistress's  beau  !" 

Bute,  also,  increased  in  value  in  proportion  as  he  became 
inaccessible.  She  confessed  to  herself  that  no  masculine  eyes 
had  ever  looked  at  her  with  such  honest  tenderness  as  his :  and 
they  were  handsome  eyes,  whatever  his  nose  might  be.  She 
had  always  liked  to  hear  his  voice,  too,  in  the  old  time:  now 
it  was  no  longer  the  same.  It  was  changed  to  her,  and  she 
had  not  imagined  that  the  change  could  make  her  so  restless 
and  unhappy. .  Still,  she  did  not  admit  to  herself  that  she  really 
loved  him  :  their  intercourse  had  had  none  of  that  sentimental 
poetic  coloring — that  atmosphere  of  sighs,  murmurs,  thrills,  and 
silent  raptures — which  she  fancied  should  accompany  Love. 
He  was  even  coarsely  material  enough  to  sneer  at  the  idea  of 
"kindred  spirits  !"  Yet  he  loved  her,  for  all  that ;  she  felt  it 
in  his  altered  manner,  as  she  had  never  felt  it  before. 

The  unexpected  shock  of  the  news  which  Mr.  Waldo  com- 
municated to  her  was  a  sudden  betrayal  of  herself.  Had  she 
possessed  the  least  power  of  introversion,  she  would  have  been 
amazed  at  it.  But  her  nature  was  not  broad  enough  to  em- 
brace more  than  a  single  sensation.  The  burst  of  tears  and 
the  impulse  to  offer  her  services  came  together,  and  all  that 
she  felt  was:  "If  Bute  dies,  I  shall  be  wretched."  She  con- 
tinued to  repeat  this  to  herself,  on  her  way  to  the  Widow 
Thurston's,  adding :  "  I'll  do  my  best  to  save  him  and  his 
stepmother,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it,  and  I  don't  care 
what  they  say." 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  29*7 

"  "Why,  what's  the  matter,  child  ?"  exclaimed  the  widow,  as 
Miss  Dilworth  walked  into  the  sitting-room,  erect,  determined, 
and  with  a  real  expression  on  her  usually  vapid  face. 

The  latter  explained  her  purpose,  not  without  additional 
tears.  "  Nobody  else  would  be  likely  to  go,"  she  said  :  "  they 
would  be  afraid  of  catching  the  fever.  But  I'm  not  afraid : 
I've  seen  the  like  before :  I  may  be  of  use,  and  I  ought  to  be 
there  now." 

The  widow  looked  at  her  with  a  gentle  scrutiny  in  her  eyes, 
which  made  Miss  Dilworth  drop  her  lids  for  the  first  time  and 
bring  forward  her  curls  from  behind  her  ears.  The  glance 
changed  to  one  of  tender  sympathy,  and,  checking  a  sigh  which 
would  have  brought  a  memory  with  it,  the  old  woman  said : 

"  I  think  thee's  right." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  necessary  preparations  were  soon 
made,  and  in  an  hour  from  that  time  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth  was 
at  Lakeside. 

The  negress,  who  knew  her,  received  her  with  a  mixture  of 
rejoicing  and  grief:  "Bress  de  Lord,  honey!"  she  exclaimed; 
"  things  is  goin'  bad.  I'se  mighty  glad  you  come.  Somebody's 
got  to  see  to  'um,  all  de  time,  an'  de  cookin'  mus1  be  'tended 
to,  ye  knows." 

Mrs.  Babb,  after  a  long  sleep,  was  again  awake,  but  in  a 
state  of  physical  prostration  which  prevented  her  from  leaving 
her  bed.  Her  anxiety  lest  Arbutus  should  not  receive  the 
proper  care,  aggravated  her  condition.  She  kept  his  medicines 
on  a  chair  by  her  bedside,  and  demanded  constant  reports  of 
him,  which  neither  Patrick  nor  Melinda  could  give  with  suf- 
ficient exactness  to  satisfy  her. 

Miss  Dilworth,  somewhat  nervously,  ascended  the  kitchen 
stairs  and  entered  the  housekeeper's  room.  But  the  sight  of 
the  haggard,  bony  face,  the  wild  restlessness  in  the  sunken 
eyes,  and  the  thin  gray  hair  streaming  loosely  from  the  queer, 
old-fashioned  night-cap,  restored  her  courage  through  the  in- 
spiration of  pity.  She  went  forward  with  a  quick,  light  step, 
and  stooped  down  beside  the  bed. 
13* 


298  HANNAH  THTJBSTON: 

"  I  have  come  to  help,  Mrs»  Babb,"  she  said. 

"  Help,  eh  ?"  answered  the  housekeeper,  in  a  weak,  husky 
voice ;  "  well — I've  got  to  take  any  help  that  comes.  Hard 
pushed,  it  seems.  Thought  you  didn't  keer  about  none  of  us. 
What  are  you  good  for,  anyhow  ?" 

"I've  helped  nurse  before,  Mrs.  Babb.  I'll 'do  my  best,  if 
you'll  let  me  try.  Which  medicine  do  you  take  ?" 

The  housekeeper  lay  silent  for  a  while,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
sempstress's  face.  She  was  so  weak  that  neither  her  first 
feeling  of  astonishment  nor  her  second  feeling  of  repugnance 
possessed  a  tithe  of  their  usual  force ;  the  sense  of  her  own 
helplessness  overpowered  them  both.  "  That  bottle  with  the 
red  stuff,"  she  said  at  last.  "  A  tea-spoonful  every  two  hours. 
Three  o'clock,  next.  Take  keer !"  she  gasped,  as  Miss  Dil- 
worth  moved  to  the  chair,  "  you'll  knock  every  thing  down 
with  that  hair  o'  yourn !" 

The  medicines  were  at  last  carefully  arranged  on  a  small 
table,  the  tea-spoonful  administered,  the  pillows  shaken  up  and 
smoothed,  and,  the  invalid  having  declared  herself  comfortable, 
Miss  Dilworth  slipped  out  of  the  room.  When  she  returned, 
ten  minutes  afterwards,  her  hair  was  drawn  over  her  temples 
in  masses  as  smooth  as  its  former  condition  would  allow,  and 
fastened  in  a  knot  behind.  The  change  was  nevertheless  an 
advantageous  one ;  it  gave  her  an  air  of  sober  womanhood 
which  she  had  never  before  exhibited.  The  old  woman 
noticed  it  at  once,  but  said  nothing.  Her  eyes  continually 
wandered  to  the  door,  and  she  was  growing  restless. 

"  Shall  I  go  and  see  how  he  is  ?"  whispered  Miss  Carrie. 

A  strong  expression  of  dislike  passed  over  the  housekeeper's 
face.  For  a  few  minutes  she  did  not  speak ;  then,  as  no  one 
came,  she  finally  groaned  :  "  I  can't  go  myself." 

Miss  Carrie  opened  the  door  of  Bute's  room  with  a  beating 
heart.  The  curtains  were  down,  to  keep  out  the  afternoon 
sun,  and  a  dim  yellow  light  filled  the  chamber.  The  air  was 
close,  and  impregnated  with  a  pungent  etherous  smell.  In  an 
old  arm-chair,  near  the  bed,  sat  Patrick,  dozing.  But  that 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  299 

shorn  head,  that  pale,  thin  face,,  and  lean,  hanging  arm,  did 
they  really  belong  to  Bute?  jShe  approached  on  tiptoe, 
holding  her  breath,  and  stood  beside  him.  A  rush  of  tender- 
ness, such  as  she  had  never  felt  towards  any  man,  came  over 
her.  She  longed  to  lay  the  wasted  head  on  her  bosom,  and 
bring  back  color  into  the  cheeks  from  the  warmth  of  her  own 
heart.  He  turned  and  muttered,  with  half-closed  eyes,  as  if 
neither  asleep  nor  awake,  and  even  when  she  gently  took  the 
hand  that  lay  on  the  coverlet,  the  listless  fingers  did  not  ac.- 
knowledge  her  touch.  Once  he  looked  full  in  her  face,  but 
vacantly,  as  if  not  even  seeing  her. 

A  horrible  fear  came  over  her.  "  Is  he  worse  ?"  she  whis- 
pered to  the  Irishman. 

"No,  he's  no  wurrse,  Miss — maybe  a  bit  better  than  he 
wur." 

"  When  must  he  have  his  medicine  ?" 

"  I've  jist  guv'  it  to  him.  He'll  be  quieter  now.  Could  ye 
stay  here  and  laive  me  go  to  the  barrn  for  an  hour,  jist  ?" 

Miss  Carrie  reported  to  the  housekeeper,  and  then  relieved 
Patrick.  She  noiselessly  moved  the  arm-chair  nearer  the  bed, 
seated  herself,  and  took  Bute's  feverish  hand  in  her  own. 
From  time  to  time  she  moistened  his  parched  lips  and  cooled 
his  throbbing  temples.  His  restless  movements  ceased  and  he 
lay  still,  though  in  a  state  of  torpor,  apparently,  rather  than 
sleep.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  him  thus,  stripped  of  his  lusty 
strength,  his  red  blood  faded,  the  strong  fibres  of  his  frame 
weak  and  lax,  and  the  light  of  human  intelligence  gone  from 
his  eye.  His  helplessness  and  unconsciousness  now,  brought 
into  strong  relief  the  sturdy,  homely  qualities  of  his  mind  and 
heart:  the  solemn  gulf  between  the  two  conditions  disclosed 
his  real  value.  Miss  Dilworth  felt  this  without  thinking  it, 
as  she  sat  beside  him,  yearning,  with  all  the  power  of  her 
li mited  nature,  for  one  look  of  recognition,  though  it  expressed 
no  kindness  for  her ;  one  rational  word,  though  it  might  not 
belong  to  the  dialect  of  love. 

No    such   look,  no   such   word,   came.     The   hour   slowly 


300  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

dragged  out  its  length  ;  Patrick  came  back  and  she  returned 
to  the  housekeeper's  room.  The  physician  paid  a  second  visit  in 
the  evening,  expressed  his  satisfaction  with  her  nursing,  thus 
far,  and  intrusted  her  with  the  entire  care  of  administering 
the  medicines.  He  advised  her,  however,  not  to  be  wasteful 
of  her  strength  at  the  outset,  as  the  patients  would  not  soon 
be  able  to  dispense  with  careful  watching.  It  was  arranged 
that  the  old  negress  should  occasionally  relieve  her  at  night. 
In  regard  to  the  invalids,  he  confessed  that  he  had  some  hope 
o*f  Bute's  recovery;  in  a  day  or  two  the  crisis  of  the  fever 
would  be  over  ;  but  Mrs.  Babb,  though  her  attack  was  much 
less  violent,  inspired  him  with  solicitude.  The  apathetic  con- 
dition of  her  system  continued,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  and 
the  strong  will  which  might  have  upheld  her,  seemed  to  be 
suddenly  broken. 

Miss  piiworth  fulfilled  her  duties  with  an  astonishing 
patience  and  gentleness.  Even  the  old  housekeeper,  no  longer 
seeing  the  curls  and  drooping  eyelids,  or  hearing  the  childish 
affectation  of  the  voice,  appeared  to  regard  her  as  a  different 
creature,  and  finally  trusted  the  medicines  implicitly  to  her 
care.  On  the  day  after  her  arrival,  Bute,  whose  wan  face  and 
vacant  eyes  haunted  her  with  a  strange  attraction,  fell  into 
a  profound  sleep.  All  that  night  he  lay,  apparently  lifeless, 
but  for  the  faint,  noiseless  breath  that  came  from  his  parted 
lips.  He  could  not  be  aroused  to  take  his  medicines.  When 
this  was  reported  to  Mrs.  Babb,  she  said,  as  sternly  as  her 
weakness  would  permit :  "  Let  him  alone !  It's  the  turnin' 
p'int;  he'll  either  die  or  git  well,  now." 

This  remark  only  increased  Miss  Dil worth's  anxiety.  Fifty 
cimes  during  the  night  she  stole  into  his  room,  only  to  find 
him  motionless,  senseless  as  before.  Patrick  took  advantage 
of  the  quiet  to  sleep,  and  snored  loud  and  hard  in  his  arm- 
chair. Once,  moved  by  an  impulse  which  she  could  not 
resist,  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  sick  man's  forehead. 
The  touch  of  her  lips  was  light  as  a  breath,  but  she  rose, 
trembling  and  blushing  at  herself,  and  slipped  out  of  the  room. 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  301 

44  Quiet — nothing  but  quiet  as  long  as  he  sleeps !"  said  the 
physician,  next  morning.  Patrick  was  excluded  from  the 
room,  because,  although  he  pulled  off  his  boots,  there  were 
two  or  three  planks  in  the  floor  which  creaked  under  his 
weight.  Miss  Dilworth  silently  laid  a  row  of  bed-room  rugs 
from  the  door  to  the  bedside,  and  went  and  came  as  if  on 
down,  over  the  enormous  tufted  roses.  No  sound  entered  the 
room  but  that  of  the  summer  wind  in  the  boughs  of  the 
nearest  elm.  Hour  after  hour  of  the  clouded  August  day 
went  by,  and  still  no  change  in  the  sleeper,  unless  an 
increased  softness  in  his  listless  hand,  as  she  cautiously 
touched  it. 

Towards  sunset,  after  a  restless  day,  Mrs.  Babb  fell  asleep, 
and  Miss  Dilworth  went  into  Bute's  room  and  seated  herself 
in  the  chair.  The  prolonged  slumber  frightened  her.  "Oh," 
she  said  to  herself,  "  what  would  I  do  if  he  was  to  die.  I've 
treated  him  badly,  and  he  would  never  know  that  I'm  sorry 
for  it — never  know  that — that  I  love  him  !  Yes,  I  know  it 
now  when  it's  too  late.  If  he  were  well,  he's  done  loving  me 
as  he  used  to — but  he  won't  get  well :  he'll  die  and  leave  me 
wretched !" 

As  these  words  passed  through  her  mind,  while  she  leaned 
forward,  with  her  face  close  to  that  of  the  invalid,  she  sud- 
denly noticed  a  change  in  his  breathing.  Its  faint,  regular 
character  was  interrupted :  it  ceased  a  moment,  and  then  his 
breast  heaved  with  a  deeper  inspiration.  "  Oh,  he's  dying !" 
she  whispered  to  herself  in  despair.  Stooping  down,  she 
kissed  his  forehead  passionately,  while  her  tears  dropped  fast 
upon  it.  His  arm  moved ;  she  rose,  and  met  the  glance  of  his 
open  eyes — clear,  tender,  happy,  wondering,  but  not  with  the 
blank  wonder  of  delirium.  It  was  Bute's  self  that  looked  at  her 
— it  was  Bute's  first,  faithful  love  that  first  came  to  the  surface 
from  the  very  depth  of  his  heart,  before  any  later  memory 
could  thrust  itself  between.  He  had  felt  the  kiss  on  his  fore- 
head :  his  eyes  drew  her,  she  knew  not  how,  to  his  lips.  His 
right  arm  lifted  itself  to  her  neck  and  held  the  kiss  a  moment 


302  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

fast:  then  it  slid  back  again,  and  she  sank  into  the  chair, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  weeping. 

After  a  while  Bute's  voice  came  to  her — weak  and  gentle, 
but  with  its  natural  tone.  "  Carrie,"  said  he,  "  what  is  it  ? 
What's  happened?" 

"Oh,  Bute,"  she  answered,  "you've  been  very  sick:  you've 
been  out  of  your  head.  A.IK!  Mrs.  Babb's  sick  too,  and  I've 
come  to  take  care  of  y«  a  both.  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
die,  Bute,  and  now  you're  going  to  get  well,  and  I'm  so  glad — 
so  happy !" 

"  Why  are  you  glad,  Carrie  ?  Why  did  you  come  ?"  he 
asked,  with  ai\  echo  of  the  old  reproach  in  his  voice.  The 
memory  of  his  disappointment  had  already  returned. 

Nothing  was  further  from  Miss  Dilworth's  mind  than  a  re- 
sort to  her  former  arts.  She  was  too  profoundly  and  solemnly 
moved:  she  would  tell  the  truth,  as  if  it  were  her  own  dying 
hour.  She  took  her  hands  from  her  face,  lifted  her  head,  and 
looked  at  him.  "  Because  I  have  treated  you  badly,  Bute," 
she  said :  "  because  I  trifled  with  you  wickedly.  I  wanted 
to  make  some  atonement,  and  to  hear  you  say  you  forgive 
me." 

She  paused.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  hers,  but  he  did  not 
answer. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me,  Bute  ?"  she  faltered.  "  Try  to  do  it, 
because  I  love  you,  though  I  don't  expect  you  to  love  me  any 
more." 

"Carrie!"  he  cried.  A  new  tint  came  to  his  face,  a  new 
light  to  his  eye.  His  hand  wandered  towards  her  on  the 
coverlet. 

"  Carrie,"  he  repeated,  feebly  grasping  her  hand  with  his 
fingers  and  drawing  her  towards  him,  "  once't  more,  now  /"  In 
the  kiss  that  followed  there  was  forgiveness,  answering  love, 
and  a  mutual  compact  for  the  future. 

"You've  brought  me  back  ag'in  to  life,"  he  murmured, 
closing  his  eyes,  while  two  bright  tears  crept  out  from  under 
the  lids.  She  sat  beside  him,  holding  his  hand.  He  seemed 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  303 

too  weak  to  -say  more,  and  thus  ten  minutes  silently  passed 
away. 

"  Tell  me  how  it  happened,"  said  Bute,  finally.  "  Where's 
Mother  Forty?" 

"  I  must  go  to  her  at  once !"  cried  Miss  Dilworth,  starting 
up.  "She's  worrying  herself  to  death  on  your  account.  And 
the  doctor  said  if  you  got  awake  you  were  to  keep  quiet,  and 
not  talk.  I  must  go,  Bute :  do  lie  still  and  try  to  sleep  till 
I  come  back.  Oh,  we  oughtn't  to  have  said  any  thing !" 

"  What  we've  said  won't  do  me  no  harm,"  he  murmured, 
with  a  patient,  happy  sigh.  "  Go,  then,  Carrie :  I'll  keep 
quiet." 

Miss  Dilworth  went  into  the  housekeeper's  room  so  much 
more  swiftly  than  usual  that  the  latter  was  awakened  by  the 
rustling  of  her  dress.  She  started  and  turned  her  head  with 
a  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Babb!"  cried  the  sempstress:  "Bute's  awake 
at  last.  And  his  mind's  come  back  to  him !  And  he  says  he'll 
get  well !" 

The  old  woman  trembled  visibly.  Her  bony  hands  were 
clasped  under  the  bed-clothes  and- her  lips  moved,  but  no 
audible  words  came  from  them.  Then,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the 
face  of  the  kneeling  girl,  she  asked :  "  What  have  you  been 
a-sayin'  to  him  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  involuntarily  drooped  her  lids  and  a  deep 
color  came  into  her  face.  "  I  asked  him,"  she  answered,  "  to 
forgive  me  for  my  bad  behavior  towards  him." 

"Nothin'else?" 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Babb,  I  said  he  could  do  it  now,  because  I  love 
him." 

"  You  do,  do  ye  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  he  has  forgiven  me." 

"Hnh!" 

With  this,  her  customary  snort,  when  she  was  not  prepared 
to  express  a  decided  opinion,  the  housekeeper  closed  her  eyes 
and  seemed  to  meditate.  Presently,  however,  she  turned  her 


304  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

head,  and  said,  rather  sternly,  though  without  any  signs  of 
bitterness : 

"  Go  'way  now,  gal !     I  want  to  be  alone  a  spell." 

Miss  Dilworth  obeyed.  When  she.  returned,  at  the  time 
appointed  for  administering  the  medicine,  Mrs.  Babb  had  re- 
sumed her  state  of  passive  patience.  She  made  no  further 
inquiries  about  the  conversation  which  had  taken  place,  nor 
about  any  which  took  place  afterwards.  A  change  had  come 
over  her  whole  nature.  She  lay  for  hours,  with  her  eyes  open, 
without  speaking,  evidently  without  suffering,  yet  keenly 
alive  to  every  thing  that  took  place.  She  took  her  medicines 
mechanically,  with  an  air  of  listless  obedience  to  the  orders  of 
the  physician,  and  without  any  apparent  result.  Stimulants 
and  sedatives  alike  failed  to  produce  their  customary  effect. 
From  day  to  day  she  grew  weaker,  and  the  physician  finally 
declared  that,  unless  she  could  be  roused  and  stirred  in  some 
way,  to  arrest  the  increasing  prostration,  he  could  do  nothing 
for  her.  As  the  knowledge  of  the  favorable  change  in  Bute's 
case  had  left  her  as  before,  there  was  little  hope  that  any 
further  source  of  excitement  remained. 

As  for  Bute,  he  rallied  with  a  rapidity  which  amazed  the 
physician,  who  ascribed  to  an  unusual  vitality  of  his  own  the 
life  which  the  invalid  had  really  drawn  from  another.  The 
only  difficulty  now  was,  to  retard  his  impatient  convalescence, 
and  Miss  Dilworth  was  obliged  to  anticipate  her  conjugal  au- 
thority and  enjoin  silence  when  he  had  still  a  thousand  happy 
questions  left  unasked  and  unanswered.  When  that  authority 
failed,  she  was  forced  to  absent  herself  from  the  room,  on  the 
plea  of  watching  Mrs.  Babb.  His  impatience,  in  such  case, 
was  almost  as  detrimental  as  his  loquacity,  and  the  little 
sempstress  was  never  .at  ease  except  when  he  slept. 

After  passing  a  certain  stage  in  the  fever,  the  housekeeper 
began  to  sink  rapidly.  Her  mind,  nevertheless,  made  feeble 
efforts  to  retain  its  ascendency — efforts  which  reacted  on  her 
body  and  completed  the  ruin  of  its  faculties.  One  day  she  as- 
tonished Miss  Dilworth  by  rising  in  her  bed  with  a  violent  effort. 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  305 

"I  must  go  and  see  him!"  she  said:  "help  me  into  his? 


room !" 

"  Oh,  you  cannot !"  cried  Miss  Dilworth,  supporting  her 
with  one  arm  around  her  waist.  "Lie  down:  you  are  not 
strong  enough.  He  will  be  able  to  come  to  you  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"  ]STo,  no  !  to-day!"  gasped  the  housekeeper.  "la'n't  cer- 
tain o'  knowin'  him  to-morrow,  or  o'  bein'  able  to  say  to 
him  what  I've  got  to  say."  Thereupon  her  temporary 
strength  gave  way,  and  she  sank  down  on  the  bed  in  a  faint- 
ing state. 

After  she  had  somewhat  revived,  Miss  Dilworth  took  coun- 
sel with  herself,  and  soon  came  to  a  decision.  She  went  down 
stairs  and  summoned  Patrick,  who  carefully  wrapped  up  Bute 
and  placed  him  in  the  arm-chair.  She  herself  then  assisted  in 
carrying  him  into  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  placing  him  by 
the  bedside.  A  look  of  unspeakable  fondness  came  over  Mrs. 
Babb's  haggard  face ;  the  tears  silently  flowed  from  her  eyes 
and  rolled  down  the  wrinkles  in  her  hollow  cheeks. 

"  Cheer  up,  Mother  Forty,"  said  Bute,  who  was  the  first  to 
speak.  "  I'm  gittin'  on  famous'  and  '11  soon  be  round  again." 

"It's  as  it  should  be,  Arbutus,"  she  whispered,  hoarsely, 
catching  her  breath  between  the  words;  "the  old  'un '11  go 
and  the  young  'un  '11  stay.  'T  had  to  be  one  of  us." 

"  Don't  say  that ;  we'll  take  care  of  you — Carrie  and  me. 
Won't  we,  Carrie  ?" 

"  Yes,  Bute,"  said  Carrie,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Babb  looked  from  one  to  another,  but  without  any 
sign  of  reproof.  She  feebly  shook  her  head.  "  What  must  be 
must,"  said  she;  "my  time's  come.  P'raps  I  sha'n't  see  you 
no  more,  Arbutus.  Maybe  I  ha'n't  done  my  duty  by  you 
always ;  maybe  I've  seemed  hard,  once't  and  a  while,  but  I 
meant  it  for  your  good,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  have  any  hard 
thoughts  ag'in  me  when  I'm  gone." 

"  Mother  Forty  !"  cried  Bute,  his  eyes  filling  and  overflow- 


306  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

ing,  "  God  knows  I  ha'n't  nothin'  ag'in  you  !  You've  been 
as  good  to  me  as  you  knowed  how  ;  it's  me  that's  been  rough, 
and  forgitful  o'  how  you  took  care  o'  me  when  I  was  a  little 
boy.  Don't  talk  that  a-way  now,  don't !" 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it,  Arbutus  ?  Do  you  forgive  me  my 
trespasses,  as  I  forgive  them  that  trespass  agi'n  me  ?  Can  I  go 
to  Jason  and  say  I've  done  my  duty  by  you  ?" 

Bute  could  not  answer :  he  was  crying  like  a  child.  He 
slid  forward  in  the  chair.  Miss  Dilworth  put  her  arm  around 
his  waist  to  steady  him,  and  they  sank  down  together  on  their 
knees  beside  the  bed.  Bute's  head  fell  forward  on  the  coverlet. 
The  housekeeper  placed  both  her  hands  upon  it. 

"  Take  my  blessin',  child !"  she  said,  in  a  feebler  voice. 
"  You've  been  a  good  boy,  Arbutus.  I'll  tell  her,  and  I'll  tell 
your  mother.  Maybe  I'll  have  a  seat  betwixt  her  and  Jason. 
All  I  have'll  be  yourn.  But  you  mustn't  stay  here  :  say  good- 
by  to  me  and  go." 

"  Will  you  bless  me,  with  him  ?"  faltered  Miss  Carrie. 

The  left  hand  slowly  moved  to  her  head,  and  rested  there. 
"  Be  a  good  wife  to  him  when  the  time  comes,  and  I'll  bless 
you  always.  There  a'n't  many  like  him,  and  I  hope  you 
know  it." 

"  I  do  know  it,"  she  sobbed ;  "  there's  nobody  like  him." 

"  I  want  you  to  leave  the  money  where  it  is,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  "  and  only  draw*  the  interest.  You'll  have  an 
easier  time  of  it  in  your  old  days  than  what  I've  had ;  but  I 
don't  begrudge  it  to  you.  It's  time  you  were  goin' — say 
good-by,  child!" 

The  sempstress,  small  as  she  was,  lifted  Bute  until  his  foster- 
mother  could  catch  and  hold  his  head  to  her  bosom.  Then, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  remembrance,  she  kissed  him,  once, 
twice,  not  with  any  violent  outburst  of  feeling,  but  with  a 
tender  gravity  as  if  it  were  a  necessary  duty,  the  omission  of 
which  would  not  be  agreeable  to  Jason  Babb.  Then  she 
turned  over  on  the  pillow,  saying  "  Amen  !"  and  was  silent. 
Patrick  was  summoned  and  Bute  was  speedily  replaced  in  his 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  307 

own  bed,  where  Miss  Dilworth  left  him  to  resume  her  place 
by  the  housekeeper's  side. 

But  that  same  night,  about  midnight,  Mrs.  Babb  died. 
She  scarcely  spoke  again  after  her  interview  with  Bute,  except 
to  ask,  two  hours  later,  whether  he  seemed  to  be  any  the 
worse  on  account  of  it.  On  being  told  that  he  was  sleeping 
quietly,  she  nodded  her  head,  straightened  her  gaunt  form  as 
well  as  she  was  able,  and  clasped  her  fingers  together  over  her 
breast.  Thus  she  lay,  as  if  already  dead,  her  strong  eyebrows, 
her  hooked  nose,  and  her  sharp  chin  marking  themselves  with 
ghastly  distinctness  as  the  cheeks  grew  more  hollow  and  the 
closed  eyes  sank  deeper  in  their  sockets.  Towards  midnight  a 
change  in  her  breathing  alarmed  Miss  Dilworth.  She  hastily 
called  the  old  negress,  who  was  sleeping  on  the  kitchen  settee. 

"  Honey,"  said  the  latter,  in  an  awe-struck  whisper,  as  she 
stood  by  the  bedside,  "  she's  a-goin'  fast.  She  soon  see  de 
glory.  Don't  you  wish  fur  her  to  stay,  'case  dat'll  interfere 
wid  her  goin'." 

Her  breath  grew  fainter,  and  came  at  longer  intervals,  but 
the  moment  when  it  ceased  passed  unnoticed  by  either  of  the 
watchers.  Melinda  first  recognized  the  presence  of  Death. 
"  You  go  an'  lay  down,"  she  said  to  Miss  Carrie.  "  You  can't 
do  no  good  now.  I'll  stay  wid  her  till  mornin'." 

The  sempstress  obeyed,  for  she  was,  in  truth,  wretchedly 
weary.  For  the  remainder  of  the  night  Melinda  sat  on  a  low 
chair  beside  the  corpse,  swinging  her  body  backwards  and 
forwards  as  she  crooned,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  De  streets  is  paved  wid  gold, 
Ober  on  de  udder  shore." 


308  HANiYAH   THURSTOX: 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

VAKIOTTS   CHANGES,    BUT   LITTLE   PROGRESS   IN   THE   STOUT. 

As  soon  as  the  news  of  Mrs.  Babb's  death  became  known, 
the  neighbors  hastened  to  Lakeside  to  offer  their  help.  The 
necessary  arrangements  for  the  funeral  were  quietly  and 
speedily  made,  and,  on  the  second  day  afterwards,  the  body  of 
the  housekeeper  was  laid  beside  that  of  Jason  Babb,  in  the 
Presbyterian  churchyard  at  Ptolemy,  where  he  had  been 
slumbering  for  the  last  twenty-three  years.  The  attendance 
was  very  large,  for  all  the  farmers'  wives  in  the  valley  had 
known  Mrs.  Babb,  and  still  held  her  receipts  for  cakes,  pre- 
serves, and  pickles  in  high  esteem.  The  Reverends  Styles 
and  Waldo  made  appropriate  remarks  and  prayers  at  the 
grave,  so  that  no  token  of  respect  was  wanting.  All  the 
neighbors  said,  as  they  drove  homewards,  "  The  funeral  was  a 
credit  to  her."  Her  spirit  must  have  smiled  in  stern  satisfac- 
tion, even  from  its  place  by  Jason's  side,  and  at  the  feet  of 
Mrs.  Dennison,  as  it  looked  down  and  saw  that  her  last  un- 
conscious appearance  among  mortals  was  a  success. 

Miss  Dilworth  took  counsel  of  her  friends,  Hannah  Thurston 
and  Mrs.  Waldo,  on  the  day  of  the  funeral.  She  confessed  to 
them,  with  returning  misgivings,  what  had  taken  place  be- 
tween Bute  Wilson  and  herself,  and  was  a  little  surprised  at 
the  hearty  gratification  which  they  both  expressed. 

"How  glad  I  am!"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo;  "it  is  the  very 
thing !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  in  her  grave,  deliberate  man- 
ner, "  I  think  you  have  made  a  good  choice,  Carrie." 


A    STOEY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  309 

If  any  spark  of  Miss  Caroline  Dilworth's  old  ambition  still 
burned  among  the  ashes  of  her  dreams,  it  was  extinguished  at 
that  moment.  The  prophets  of  reform  were  thenceforth  dead 
to  her.  She  even  took  a  consolation  in  thinking  that  if  her 
wish  had  been  fulfilled,  her  future  position  might  have  had  its 
embarrassments.  She  might  have  been  expected  to  sympa- 
thize with  ideas  which  she  did  not  comprehend — to  make  use 
of  new  shibboleths  before  she  had  learned  to  pronounce  them 
— to  counterfeit  an  intelligent  appreciation  when  most  con- 
scious of  her  own  incompetency.  Now,  she  would  be  at  ease. 
Bu{f  would  never  discover  any  deficiency  in  her.  She  spoke 
better  English  and  used  finer  words  than  he  'did,  and  if  she 
made  a  mistake  now  and  then,  he  wouldn't  even  notice  it. 
With  the  disappearance  of  her  curls  her  whole  manner  had 
become  more  simple  and  natural.  Her  little  affectations  broke 
out  now  and  then,  it  is  true,  but  they  had  already  ceased  to  be 
used  as  baits  to  secure  a  sentimental  interest.  There  was  even 
hope  that  her  attachment  to  Bute  would  be  the  means  of  de- 
veloping her  somewhat  slender  stock  of  common-sense. 

"  Bute  says  we  must  be  married  as  soon  as  he  gets  well," 
she  said  :  "  he  won't  wait  any  longer.  Is  there  any  harm  in 
my  staying  here  and  taking  care  of  him  until  he's  entirely  out 
of  danger  ?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  reflected  a  moment.  "Certainly  none  until 
Mr.  Woodbury returns,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Waldo  has  answered 
his  letter  to  Bute,  which  came  this  morning.  If  he  leaves 
Saratoga  at  once,  he  will  be  here  in  three  or  four  days.  The 
doctor  says  you  are  an  admirable  nurse,  and  that  is  reason 
enough  why  you  should  not  leave  at  present." 

"The  other  reason  ought  to  be  enough,"  said  Hannah 
Thurston.  "She  owes  a  wife's  duty  towards  him  now,  when 
he  needs  help  which  she  can  give.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Woodbury 
will  see  it  in  the  same  light.  He  is  noble  and  honorable." 

"Why,  Hannah!"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  "I  thought  you  and 
he  were  as  far  apart  as  the  opposite  poles !" 

"  Perhaps  we  are,  in  our  views  of  certain  subjects,"  was  the 


310  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

quiet  reply.     "  I  can,  nevertheless,  properly  estimate  his  char 
acter  as  a  man." 

Mrs.  Waldo  suppressed  a  sigh.  "  If  you  could  only  esti- 
mate your  own  true  character  as  a  woman !"  she  thought. 

Miss  Dilworth's  duties  were  now  materially  lightened.  The 
danger  of  further  contagion  had  passed,  and  some  one  of  the 
neighbors  came  every  day  to  assist  her.  Bute  only  required 
stimulating  medicines,  and  the  usual  care  to  prevent  a  relapse, 
of  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  danger.  He  began  to  recover 
his  healthful  sleep  at  night,  and  his  nurse  was  thus  enabled  to 
keep  up  her  strength  by  regular  periods  of  rest.  Once  or 
twice  a  day  she  allowed  him  to  talk,  so  long  as  there  was  no 
appearance  of  excitement  or  fatigue.  These  half  hours  were 
the  happiest  Bute  had  ever  known.  To  the  delicious  languor 
and  peace  of  convalescence,  was  added  the  active,  ever-renewed 
bliss  of  his  restored  love,  and  the  promises  which  it  whispered. 
He  delighted  to  call  Miss  Carrie,  in  anticipation,  "  Little 
wife !"  pausing,  each  time  he  did  so,  to  look  for  the  blush 
which  was  sure  to  come,  and  the  smile  on  the  short  red  lips, 
which  was  the  sweetest  that  ever  visited  a  woman's  face.  Of 
course  it  Avas. 

One  day,  nevertheless,  as  he  lay  looking  at  her,  and  think- 
ing how  much  more  steady  and  sensible  she  seemed  since  her 
curls  were  gathered  up — how  much  more  beautiful  the  ripples 
of  light  brown  hair  upon  her  temples — a  cloud  came  over  his 
face.  "Carrie,"  he  said,  "there's  one  thought  worries  me,  and 
I  want  you  to  put  it  straight,  if  you  can.  S'pose  I  hadn't  got 
sick, — s'pose  I  hadn't  lost  my  senses,  would  you  ever  ha'  come 
to  your'n  ?" 

She  was  visibly  embarrassed,  but  presently  a  flitting  roguish 
expression  passed  over  her  face,  and  she  answered:  "Would 
you  have  given  me  a  chance  to  do  it,  Bute?" 

"  Likely  not,"  said  he.  "  You  spoke  plain  enough  last  win- 
ter, and  't wasn't  for  me  to  say  the  first  word,  after  that. 
When  a  man's  burnt  his  fingers  once't,  he  keeps  away  from 
the  fire.  But  I  want  to  know  why  you  come  to  take  keer  o' 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  311 

mo  and  Mother  Forty.  Was  it  only  because  you  were  sorry, 
and  wanted  to  pay  me  for  my  disapp'intment  in  that  way? 
Can  you  lay  your  hand  on  your  heart  and  say  there  was  any 
thing  more  ?" 

Miss  Carrie  immediately  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "  Yes, 
Bute,"  she  said,  "  there  was  something  more.  I  was  begin- 
ning to  find  it  out,  before,  but  when  I  heard  you  were  so  bad, 
it  came  all  at  once." 

"Look  here,  Carrie,"  said  Bute,  still  very  earnestly,  although 
the  cloud  was  beginning  to  pass  away,  "some  men  have  hearts 
like  shuttlecocks,  banged  back  and  forth  from  one  gal  to  an- 
other, and  none  the  wuss  of  it.  But  I  a'n't  one  of  'em.  When- 
ever I  talk  serious,  I  'xpect  to  be  answered  serious.  I  believe 
what  you  say  to  me.  I  believed  it  a'ready,  but  I  wanted  to  be 
double  sure.  You  and  me  have  got  to  live  together  as  man 
and  wife.  'T won't  be  all  skylarkin' :  we've  got  to  work,  and 
help  one  another,  and  take  keer  o'  others  besides,  if  things  goes 
right.  What'll  pass  in  a  gal,  won't  pass  in  a  married  woman : 
you  must  get  shut  o'  your  coquettin'  ways.  I  see  you've  took 
the  trap  out  o'  your  hair,  and  now  you  must  take  it  out  o'  your 
eyes.  'Ta'n't  that  it'll  mean  any  thing  any  more — if  I  thought 
it  did,  I'd  feel  like  Jdllin'  you — but  it  won't  look  right." 

"You  mustn't  mind  my  foolishness,  Bute,"  she  answered, 
penitently,  "  and  you  mustn't  think  of  Seth  Wattles !" 

"Seth  be — con-sarrid /"  Bute  exclaimed.  "When  I  see  you 
pickin'  up  dead  frogs,  I'll  believe  you  like  to  shake  hands  with 
Seth !  I've  got  agreeabler  thoughts  than  to  have  him  in  ray 
head.  Well — I  don't  bear  no  grudge  ag'in  him  now ;  but  I 
can't  like  him." 

"I  don't  like  him  either.  Fancy  such  a  fellow  as  he  think- 
ing himself  good  enough  for  Hannah  Thurston !  There's  no 
man  good  enough  for  her !" 

"  Like  enough  she  thinks  herself  too  good  for  any  man,' 
Bute  remarked.     "  But  them  a'n't  the  women,  Carrie,  that  a 
man  wants  to  marry.     It'll  be  a  lucky  woman  that  gits  Mr. 
Max/' 


312  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

"Oh,  I  must  go  and  see  to  Mr.  Woodbury' s  room!"  cried 
Miss  Dilworth,  starting  up.  "  Perhaps  he'll  come  this  very 
day.  Then  I  suppose  I  must  go  away,  Bute." 

"I  hope  not,  Carrie.  I  wouldn't  mind  bein'  a  bit  sicker  for 
a  day  or  two,  o'  purpose  to  keep  you  here.  What!  are  you 
goin'  away  in  that  fashion,  Little  Wife  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  darted  back  to  the  bedside,  stooped  down, 
like  a  humming-bird  presenting  its  bill  to  a  rather  large  flow- 
er, and  was  about  to  shoot  off  again,  when  Bute  caught  her  by 
the  neck  and  substituted  a  broad,  firm  kiss,  full  of  consistency 
and  flavor,  for  the  little  sip  she  had  given  him. 

"  That's  comfortin',"  said  he.  "  I  thank  the  Lord  my  mouth 
a'n't  as  little  as  your'n." 

Before  night,  Mr.  Woodbury  arrived,  having  taken  a  carriage 
at  Tiberi  us  and  driven  rapidly  over  the  hills.  Mr.  Waldo's  letter, 
announcing  Bute's  dangerous  condition  and  Mrs.  Babb's  death, 
had  greatly  startled  and  shocked  him.  His  summer  tour  was 
nearly  at  an  end,  and  he  at  once  determined  to  return  to  Lake- 
side for  the  autumn  and  winter.  He  was  not  surprised  to. find 
his  household  in  charge  of  Miss  Dilworth,  for  the  news  had 
already  been  communicated  to  him.  She  met  him  at  the  door, 
blushing  and  slightly  embarrassed,  for  she  scarcely  felt  herself 
entitled  to  be  ranked  among  his  acquaintances,  and  the  calm 
reserve  of  his  usual  manner  had  always  overawed  her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  find  you  still  here,  Miss  Dilworth,"  he 
said,  pressing  her  hand  warmly;  "how  can  I  repay  you  for 
your  courage  and  kindness?  Bute — ?" 

"  He  is  much  better,  Sir.  He  is  expecting  you :  will  you 
walk  up  and  see  him  ?" 

"  Immediately.  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  carry  all  this  dust 
with  me.  I  will  go  to  my  room  first." 

"  It  is  ready,  Sir,"  said  Miss  Dilworth.  "  Let  me  have  your 
coat." 

Before  Woodbury  had  finished  washing  his  face  and  hands, 
and  brushing  the  white  dust  of  the  highway  out  of  his  hair, 
there  was  a  light  tap  on  the  door.  He  opened  it  and  beheld 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  813 

his  coat,  neatly  dusted  and  folded,  confronting  him  on  the  back 
of  a  chair.  Bute's  room  he  found  in  the  most  perfect  order. 
The  weather  had  been  warm,  dry,  and  still,  and  the  window 
furthest  from  the  bed  was  open.  The  invalid  lay,  propped  up 
with  two  extra  pillows,  awaiting  him.  Woodbury  was  at  first 
shocked  by  his  pale,  wasted  face,  to  which  the  close-cut  hair 
gave  a  strange,  ascetic  character.  His  eyes  were  sunken,  but 
still  bright  and  cheerful,  and  two  pale-blue  sparks  danced  in 
them  as  he  turned  his  head  to  wards  *the  door. 

"  Bute,  my  poor  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  I  did  not  dream  this 
would  have  happened,"  said  Woodbury,  taking  the  large, 
spare  hand  stretched  towards  him. 

u  Oh,  I'm  doin'  well  now,  Mr.  Max.  'Twas  queer  how  it 
come — all  't  once't,  without  any  warnin'.  I  knowed  nothin' 
about  it  till  I  was  past  the  danger." 

*'And  Mrs.  Babb — was  she  sick  long?  Did  she  suffer 
much  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  she  suffered  at  all :  she  was  never  out  of  her 
head.  She  seemed  to  give  up  at  the  start,  I'm. told,  and  all 
the  medicines  she  took  was  no  use.  She  jist  made  up  her  mind 
to  die,  and  she  always  had  a  strong  will,  you  know,  Mr.  Max." 
Bute  said  this  quietly  and  seriously,  without  the  least  thought 
of  treating  the  memory  of  his  foster-mother  lightly. 

"  She  had  a  good  nurse,  at  least,"  said  Woodbury,  "  and  you 
seem  to  be  equally  fortunate." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  am,"  answered  Bute,  his  face  on  a  broad 
grin,  and  with  more  color  in  it  than  he  had  shown  for  many 
days.  "I've  had  the  best  o'  nussin',  Mr.  Max.  Not  but 
what  Pat  and  Mr.  MerrySeld  was  as  kind  as  they  could  be — 
'twasn't  the  same  thing.  And  I  may  as  well  out  with  it 
plump  :  there's  no  nuss  quite  ek'l  to  a  man's  own  wife." 

"Wife!"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  in  amazement. 

"  Well — no — not  jist  yit,"  stammered  Bute  ;  "but  she  will 
be  as  soon  as  I  git  well  enough  to  marry.     I'd  been  hankerin' 
after  her  for  these  two  years,  Mr.  Max.,  but  it  mightri't  ha* 
come  to  nothin'  if  I  hadn't  got  sick." 
14 


314  HANNAH  THTJBSTON: 

"  You  mean  Miss  Dil  worth,  of  course  ?" 

Bute  nodded  his  head. 

"  You  astonish  me,  Bute.  I  scarcely  know  her  at  all,  but  I 
think  you  have  too  much  good  sense  to  make  a  mistake.  I 
wish  you  joy,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  yet" — he  continued  in  a 
graver  tone,  taking  Bute's  hand,  "  I  shall  be  almost  sorry  for 
it,  if  this  marriage  should  deprive  me  of  your  services  on  the 
farm." 

"  How  ?"  cried  Bute,  instantly  recovering  his  former  pale- 
ness, "  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Max.,  that  you  wouldn't  want  me 
afterwards  ?" 

"  No,  no,  Bute  !  On  the  contrary,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
you  settled  and  contented.  But  it  is  natural,  now,  that  you 
should  wish  to  have  a  farm  of  your  own,  and  as  Mrs.  Babb's 
legacy  will  enable  you  to  buy  a  small  one,  I  thought " 

"Bless  you,  Mr.  Max.!"  interrnpted  Bute,  "it  would  be  a 
small  one.  What's  a  few  hundred  dollars  ?  I've  no  notion  o' 
goin'  into  farmin'  on  a  ten-acre  lot." 

"  Mr.  Waldo  tells  me  that  her  property  amounts  to  about 
twenty-seven  hundred  dollars." 

"  Twenty — seven — hundred!"  and  Bute  feebly  tried  to 
whistle.  "  Well — Mother  Forty  always  was  a  cute  'un — who'd 
ha'  thought  it  ?  And  she's  left  it  all  to  me — she  keered  a 
mighty  sight  more  for  me  than  she  let  on."  Here  something 
rose  in  his  throat  and  stopped  his  voice  for  a  moment.  "  I'll 
do  her  biddin'  by  it,  that  I  will !"  he  resumed.  "  I  shall  leave 
it  out  at  interest,  and  not  touch  a  cent  of  the  capital.  Time 
enough  for  my  children  to  draw  that.  Oh,  Mr.  Max.,  now  the 
Lord  may  jist  send  as  many  youngsters  to  me  and  Carrie,  as 
He  pleases !" 

A  dim  sensation,  like  the  memory  of  a  conquered  sorrow, 
weighed  upon  Woodbury's  heart  for  an  instant,  and  passed 
away. 

"  I  know  when  I'm  well  off,"  Bute  went  on.  "  I'm  content- 
ed to  stay  as  I  am:  every  thing  on  the  farm — the  horses,  th' 
oxen,  the  pigs,  the  fences,  the  apple-trees,  the  timber-land — 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  315 

seems  to  me  as  much  mine  as  it  is  your'n.  If  I  had  a  farm  o' 
my  own,  it'd  seem  strange  like,  as  if  it  belonged  to  somebody 
else.  I've  got  the  hang  of  every  field  here,  and  know  jist  what 
it'll  bring.  I  want  to  make  a  good  livin' :  I  don't  deny  that ; 
but  if  I  hold  on  to  what  I've  got  now,  and  don't  run  no  resks, 
and  put  out  th'  interest  ag'in  every  year,  it'll  roll  up  jist  about 
as  fast  and  a  darned  sight  surer,  than  if  I  was  to  set  up  for  my- 
self. If  you're  willin',  Mr.  Max.,  we  can  fix  it  somehow.  If 
the  tenant-house  on  the  'j^acreon  road  was  patched  up  a  little, 
it'd  do  for  the  beginnin'." 

"  We  can  arrange  it  together,  Bute,"  said  Woodbury,  rising. 
"Now  you  have  talked  long  enough,  and  must  rest.  I  will 
see  you  again  before  I  go  to  bed." 

As  Miss  Dilworth,  at  his  request,  took  her  seat  at  the  table 
and  poured  out  the  tea,  Woodbury  looked  at  her  with  a  new 
interest.  He  had  scarcely  noticed  her  on  previous  occasions,  and 
hence  there  was  no  first  impression  to  be  removed.  It  seemed 
to  him,  indeed,  as  if  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time  now.  The 
ripples  in  her  hair  caught  the  light ;  her  complexion  was  un- 
usually fair  and  fresh ;  the  soft  green  of  her  eyes  became 
almost  brown  under  the  long  lashes,  and  the  mouth  was  infan- 
tine in  shape  and  color.  A  trifle  of  affectation  in  her  manner 
did  not  disharmonize  with  such  a  face ;  it  was  natural  to  her, 
and  would  have  been  all  the  same,  had  she  beer,:  eighty  years 
old  instead  of  twenty-six.  With  this  affectation,  however, 
were  combined  two  very  useful  qualities — a  most  scrupulous 
neatness  and  an  active  sense  of  order.  "  Upon  my  soul,  it  is 
Lisette  herself,"  said  Woodbury  to  himself,  as  he  furtively 
watched  her  airs  and  movements.  Who  would  have  expected 
to  fiiid  so  many  characteristics  of  the  Parisian  grisette  in  one 
of  our  staid  American  communities  ?  And  how  astonishing, 
could  he  have  known  it,  her  ambitious  assumption  of  Hannah 
Thurston's  views  !  It  was  a  helmet  of  Pallas,  which  not  only 
covered  her  brow,  but  fell  forward  over  her  saucy  retrousse 
nose,  and  weighed  her  slender  body  half-way  to  the  earth. 

She  felt  his  scrutiny,  and  performed  her  tea-table  duties  with 


316  HANNAH   THURSTOX  I 

two  spots  of  bright  coior  in  her  cheeks.  Woodbury  knew 
that  she  suspected  what  Bute's  principal  communication  to 
him  had  been,  and,  with  his  usual  straightforward  way  of 
meeting  a  delicate  subject,  decided  to  speak  to  her  at  once. 
She  gave  a  little  start  of  confusion — not  entirely  natural — as 
he  commenced,  but  his  manner  was  so  serious,  frank,  and  re- 
spectful, that  she  soon  felt  ashamed  of  herself  and  was  drawn, 
to  her  own  surprise,  to  answer  him  candidly  and  naturally. 

"Bute  has  told  me,  Miss  Dilworth,"  said  he,  "of  your 
mutual  understanding.  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  for  his  sake. 
He  is  an  honest  and  faithful  fellow,  and  deserves  to  be  happy. 
I  think  he  is  right,  also,  in  not  unnecessarily  postponing  the 
time,  though  perhaps  I.  should  not  think  so,  if  his  marriage 
were  to  deprive  me  of  his  services.  But  he  prefers  to  con- 
tinue to  take  charge  of  Lakeside,  rather  than  buy  or  lease  a 
farm  for  himself.  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  his  decision  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  answered :  "  I  should  not  like 
to  leave  this  neighborhood.  I  have  no  relatives  in  the  country, 
except  an  aunt  in  Tiberius.  My  brother  went  to  Iowa  five 
years  ago." 

"  Bute  must  have  a  home,"  Woodbury  continued.  "  He 
spoke  of  my  tenant-house,  but  besides  being  old  and  ruinous, 
it  is  not  well  situated,  either  for  its  inmates,  or  for  the  needs 
of  the  farm.  I  had  already  thought  of  tearing  it  down,  and 
building  a  cottage  on  the  knoll,  near  the  end  of  the  lane. 
But  that  would  take  time,  and— 

"  Oh,  we  can  wait,  Mr.  Woodbury !" 

He  smiled.  "  I  doubt  whether  Bute  would  be  as  ready  to 
wait  as  you,  Miss  Dilworth.  I  am  afraid  if  I  were  to  propose 
it,  he  would  leave  me  at  once.  No,  we  must  make  some 
other  arrangement  in  the  mean  time.  I  have  been  turning  the 
matter  over  in  my  mind  and  have  a  proposition  to  make  to 
you." 

"  To  me !" 

"  Yes.  Mrs.  Babb's  death  leaves  me  without  a  housekeeper. 
My  habits  are  very  simple,  the  household  is  small,  and  I  see 


A   STOEY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  317 

already  that  you  are  capable  of  doing  all  that  will  be  required. 
Of  course  you  will  have  whatever  help  you  need  ;  I  ask  no- 
thing more  than  a  general  superintendence  of  my  domestic 
affairs  until  your  new  home  is  ready.  If  you  have  no  ob- 
jection of  your  own  to  make,  will  you  please  mention  it  to 
Bute?" 

"  Bute  will  be  so  pleased !"  she  cried.  "  Only,  Mr.  Wood- 
bury,  if  it  isn't  more  than  I  am  capable  of  doing  ?  If  I'm 
able  to  give  you  satisfaction  !" 

"  I  shall  be  sure  of  your  wish  to  do  so,  Miss  Dilworth," 
said  Woodbury,  rising  from  the  table ;  "  and  I  have  the  far- 
ther guarantee  that  you  will  have  Bute  to  please,  as  well  as 
myself." 

He  went  into  the  library  and  lighted  a  cigar.  "Lucky 
fellow  !"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  sigh.  "  He  makes  no  in- 
tellectual requirements  from  his  wife,  and  he  has  no  trouble  in 
picking  up  a  nice  little  creature  who  is  no  doubt  perfection  in 
his  eyes,  and  who  will  be  faithful  to  him  all  his  days.  If  she 
doesn't  know  major  from  minor ;  if  she  confuses  tenses  and 
doubles  negatives;  if  she  eats  peas  with  her  knife,  and  trims 
her  bonnet  with  colors  at  open  war  with  each  other ;  if  she 
nevnr  heard  of  Shakespeare,  and  takes  Petrarch  to  be  the  name 
of  a  mineral — what  does  he  care  ?  She  makes  him  a  tidy 
home ;  she  understands  and  soothes  his  simple  troubles ;  she 
warms  his  lonely  bed,  and  suckles  the  vigorous  infants  that 
spring  from  his  loins  ;  she  gives  an  object  to  his  labor,  a  con- 
tented basis  to  his  life,  and  a  prospect  of  familiar  society  in 
the  world  beyond  the  grave.  Simple  as  this  relation  of  the 
sexes  is  for  him,  he  feels  its  sanctity  no  less  than  I.  His  es- 
pousals are  no  less  chaste ;  his  wedded  honor  is  as  dear,  his 
paternal  joys  as  pure.  My  nature  claims  all  this  from  woman, 
but,  alas  !  it  claims  more.  The  cultivated  intelligence  comes 
in  to  question  and  criticize  the  movements  of  the  heart.  Here, 
on  one  side,  is  goodness,  tenderness,  fidelity ;  on  the  other, 
grace,  beauty,  refinement,  intellect — both  needs  must  be  ful- 
filled. How  shall  I  ever  reach  this  double  marriage,  except 


318  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

through  a  blind  chance  ?  Yet  here  is  one  woman  in  whom  it 
wVild  be  nearly  fulfilled,  and  a  strange  delusion  into  which 
she  has  fallen  warns  me  to  think  of  her  no  more  !" 

The  conscious  thread  of  his  thoughts  broke  off,  and  they 
loosened  themselves  into  formless  reverie.  As  he  rose  to  re- 
visit Bute's  chamber,  he  paused  a  moment,  thinking :  "  That 
I  can  analyze  her  nature  thus  deliberately,  is  a  proof  that  I  do 
not  love  her." 

Bute  was  delighted  with  the  new  arrangement  which  Wood- 
bury  had  proposed  to  Miss  Dilworth.  The  latter  would  leave 
in  a  few  days,  he  said,  and  spend  the  subsequent  two  or  three 
weeks  before  the  wedding  could  take  place,  at  the  Widow 
Thurston's. 

"After 'it's  all  over,  Mr.  Max.,"  said  Bute,  "she  shall  stay 
here  and  tend  to  the  house  jist  as  long  as  you  want ;  but — 
you  won't  mind  my  savin'  it,  will  you? — there's  only  one 
right  kind  of  a  housekeeper  for  you,  and  I  hope  you  won't  be 
too  long  a-findin'  her." 


A   STOKT   OF   AMEBICAN  LIFE.  319 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

IN  WHICH   HANNAH   THTJRSTON   MAKES   A   NEW   ACQUAINTANCE. 

IN  another  week,  Bute  was  able  to  dispense  with  the  grate- 
ful nursing  which  had  more  than  reconciled  him  to  the  con- 
finement of  his  sick-room.  He  required  no  attendance  at 
night,  and  was  able  to  sit,  comfortably  pillowed,  for  a  great 
part  of  the  day.  He  consumed  enormous  quantities  of  chicken- 
broth,  and  drank  immoderately  of  Old  Port  and  Albany  Ale. 
Miss  Dil worth,  therefore,  made  preparations  to  leave  :  she  was 
now  obliged  to  sew  for  herself,  and  a  proper  obedience  to  cus- 
tom required  that  she  should  not  remain  at  Lakeside  during 
the  last  fortnight  of  her  betrothal. 

On  the  morning  of  her  departure,  Woodbury  called  her 
into  the  library.  "  You  have  done  me  a  great  service,  Miss 
Dilworth,"  said  he,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  acknowl- 
edge it  by  furnishing  you  with  one  article  which  I  know  will 
have  to  be  provided."  With  these  words  he  opened  a  paper 
parcel  and  displayed  a  folded  silk,  of  the  most  charming  tint 
of  silver-gray. 

The  little  sempstress  looked  at  it  in  speechless  ecstasy. 
"It's  heavenly  !"  she  at  last  cried,  clasping  her  hands.  "  I'm 
obliged  to  you  a  thousand  times,  Mr.  Woodbury.  It's  too 
much,  indeed  it  is  !" 

"  Bute  won't  think  so,"  he  suggested. 

She  snatched  the  parcel,  and  darted  up-stairs  in  three 
bounds.  "  Oh,  Bute !"  she  cried,  bursting  into  his  room,  "  only 
look  at  this !  It's  my  wedding-dress !  And  he's  just  given  it 
to  me  I" 


820  HANNAH   THURSTON  .* 

"  It's  the  prettiest  thing  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on,"  said  Bute, 
looking  at  the  silk  reverently  but  not  daring  to  touch  it 
"That's  jist  like  Mr.  Max. — what  did  I  always  tell  you  about 
him  ?" 

After  Miss  Dilworth's  departure,  the  housekeeping  was 
conducted,  somewhat  indifferently,  by  the  old  negress.  She 
had,  however,  the  one  merit  of  being  an  admirable  cook,  and 
Woodbury  might  have  managed  to  live  with  her  assistance, 
for  a  fortnight,  but  for  one  awkward  circumstance.  He  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Mrs.  Blake,  saying  that  her  husband  had 
completed  his  business  in  the  East  and  they  were  preparing 
to  leave  Saratoga.  Would  it  be  still  convenient  for  him  to 
entertain  them  for  a  few  days  at  Lakeside,  on  their  return  to 
St.  Louis?  If  the  illness  in  his  household,  which  had  called 
him  home  so  suddenly,  still  continued,  they  would,  of  course, 
forego  the  expected  pleasure ;  but  if  not,  they  would  be  the 
more  delighted  to  visit  him,  as  it  was  probable  they  would 
not  come  to  the  East  the  following  summer.  Would  he 
answer  the  letter  at  once,  as  they  were  nearly  ready  to  leave  ? 

Woodbury  was  uncertain  what  to'  do  in  this  emergency. 
There  was  no  longer  the  slightest  fear  of  contagion,  and  he 
particularly  desired  the  offered  visit ;  but  how  could  he  enter- 
tain his  friends  without  a  housekeeper  ?  He  finally  decided 
that  it  must  be  arranged,  somehow ;  wrote  an  affirmative  an- 
swer, and  rode  into  Ptolemy  to  post  it  without  delay,  first 
calling  at  the  Cimmerian  Parsonage  to  ask  the  advice  of  a 
sensible  female  friend. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  after  stating  the  dilemma  to  Mrs.  Wal- 
do, "  now  that  my  tyrant  has  gone,  I  wish  her  back  again.  A 
despotism  is  better  than  no  government  at  all." 

"  Ah,  but  a  republic  is  better  than  a  despotism !"  she  replied. 
"  Do  you  take  my  meaning  ?  I'm  not  certain,  after  all,  that 
the  figure  is  quite  correct,  But  the  thing  is  to  find  a  tempo- 
rary housekeeper.  I  know  of  no  single  disengaged  woman  in 
Ptolemy,  unless  it  is  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  and  her  mourn- 
ful countenance  and  habit  of  sighing,  would  be  very  discour- 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  321 

aging  to  your  guests,  even  if  she  were  willing  to  go.  Mrs.  Bue 
is  a  complete  intelligence  office  for  Ptolemy  servants.  Your 
only  chance  is  to  see  her." 

"  And  if  that  fails  ?" 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope.  I  shall  be  vexed,  for  I  want  to  see 
this  Mrs.  Blake.  If  it  were  not  for  taking  care  of  my  good 
husband,  I  should  myself  be  willing  to  act  as  mistress  of  Lake- 
side for  a  few  days." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  able  to  kelp  me  !"  cried  Woodbury, 
joyfully.  "Let  me  add  Mr.  Waldo  to  the  number  of  my 
guests.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  him,  and  the  change  may 
be  refreshing  to  him.  Besides,  you  will  have  us  all  at  the 
Cimmerian  Church,  if  the  Blakes  remain  over  a  Sunday." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  if  you  supposed  that  any  thing  of  the 
kind  was  in  my  thoughts,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  But  the  pro- 
posal sounds  very  pleasantly.  I  am  sure  we  both  should  enjoy 
it  very  much,  but  I  cannot  accept,  you  know,  before  consulting 
with  my  husband." 

"  Leave  Mr.  Waldo  to  me." 

The  matter  was  very  easily  arranged.  The  clergyman,  faith- 
ful to  the  promise  of  his  teeth,  appreciated  a  generous  diet. 
His  own  table  was  oftentimes  sparely  supplied,  and  he  was 
conscious  of  a  gastric  craving  which  gave  him  discouraging 
views  of  life.  There  was  no  likelihood  of  any  immediate  birth 
or  death  in  his  congregation,  and  it  was  not  the  season  of  the 
year  when  members  were  usually  assailed  by  doubts  and  given 
to  backsliding.  More  fortunate  clergymen  went  to  the  water- 
ing places,  or  even  to  Europe,  to  rest  their  exhausted  lungs ; 
why  should  he  not  go  to  Lakeside  for  a  week  ?  They  had  no 
servant,  and  could  shut  up  the  parsonage  during  their  absence : 
but  the  old  horse  ? 

"  Wife,  we  must  get  somebody  to  look  after  Dobbin,"  he 
said,  thoughtfully. 

"  Bring  Dobbin  along,"  Woodbury  laughed,  "  my  old  Dick 
will  be  glad  to  see  him." 

Although  neither  he  nor  the  Waldos  were  aware  that  they 
4* 


322  HANNAH   THUESTON  : 

had  spoken  to  any  one  on  the  subject,  the  arrangement  that 
had  been  made  was  whispered  to  everybody  in  Ptolemy  be- 
fore twenty-four  hours  were  over.  Nothing  was  known  of 
the  Blakes,  except  that  they  were  "fashionable,"  and  those 
who  would  have  been  delighted  to  be  in  the  place  of  the  poor 
clergyman  and  his  wife,  expressed  their  astonishment  at  the 
conduct  of  the  latter. 

"  It's  what  I  call  very  open  communion,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Pinchman,  of  the  Campbellite  Church. 

Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin  heaved  three  of  her  most  mournful 
sighs,  in  succession,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Merry-makings  so  soon  after  a  death  in  the  house,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue :  "  it's  quite  shocking  to  think  of." 

"  Our  friend  is  getting  very  select,"  said  the  Hon.  Zeno 
Harder,  in  his  most  pompous  manner,  thereby  implying  that 
he  should  not  have  been  overlooked. 

Mr.  Grindle,  of  course,  improved  the  opportunity  on  every 
possible  occasion,  and  before  the  Blakes  had  been  two  days 
at  Lakeside,  it  was  reported,  in  temperance  circles,  that  they 
had  already  consumed  one  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  wine. 

Had  these  rumors  been  known  to  the  pleasant  little  com- 
munity of  Lakeside,  they  would  have  added  an  additional 
hilarity  to  the  genial  atmosphere  which  pervaded  the  house. 
But  it  was  quite  removed  from  the  clatter  of  the  village  gos- 
sip, and  by  the  time  such  news  had  gone  its  rounds,  and  been 
conveyed  to  the  victim  by  sympathizing  friends,  the  occasion 
which  gave  rise  to  it  had  entirely  passed  away.  In  our  small 
country  communities,  nothing  is  so  much  resented  as* an  indi- 
rect assumption  of  social  independence.  A  deviation  from  the 
prevailing  habits  of  domestic  life — a  disregard  for  prevailing 
prejudices,  however  temporary  and  absurd  they  may  be — a 
visit  from  strangers  who  excite  curiosity  and  are  not  made  com- 
mon social  property  :  each  of  these  circumstances  is  felt  as  an 
act  of  injustice,  and  constitutes  a  legitimate  excuse  for  assault. 
Since  the  railroad  had  reached  Tiberius,  and  the  steamer  on 
Atauga  Lake  began  to  bring  summer  visitors  to  Ptolemy, 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  323 

this  species  of  despotism  had  somewhat  relaxed,  but  it  now 
and  then  flamed  up  with  the  old  intensity,  and  Woodbury 
was  too  cosmopolitan  in  his  nature  not  to  provoke  its  ex- 
ercise. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waldo  reached  Lakeside  the  day  before  the 
arrival  of  the  Blakes,  and  the  latter  took  immediate  and  easy 
possession  of  her  temporary  authority.  In  addition  to  Me- 
linda,  than  whom  no  better  cook,  in  a  limited  sphere  of  dishes, 
could  have  been  desired,  Woodbury  had  hit  upon  the  singular 
expedient  of  borrowing  a  chamber-maid  from  the  Ptolemy 
House.  Mrs.  Waldo's  task  was  thus  rendered  light  and 
agreeable — no  more,  in  fact,  than  she  would  have  voluntarily 
assumed  in  any  household  rather  than  be  idle.  It  was  more 
than  a  capacity — it  was  almost  a  necessity  of  her  nature,  to 
manage  something  or  direct  somebody.  In  the  minor  details 
her  sense  of  order  may  have  been  deficient ;  but  in  regulating 
departments  and  in  general  duties  she  was  never  at  fault. 
Her  subordinates  instantly  felt  the  bounds  she  had  drawn  for 
them,  and  moved  instinctively  therein. 

The  Blakes  were  charmed  with  Lakeside  and  the  scenery 
of  the  Atauga  Valley.  Between  the  boy  George  and  Bute, 
who  was  now  able  to  sit  on  the  shaded  veranda  on  still,  dry 
days,  there  grew  up  an  immediate  friendship.  Miss  Josephine 
was  beginning  to  develop  an  interest  in  poetry  and  romances, 
and  took  almost  exclusive  possession  of  the  library.  Mr. 
Blake  walked  over  the  farm  with  Woodbury  in  the  forenoons, 
each  developing  theories  of  agriculture  equally  original  and 
impracticable,  while  the  Mesdames  Waldo  and  Blake  improved 
their  acquaintance  in  house  and  garden.  The  two  ladies  un- 
derstood each  other  from  the  start,  and  while  there  were  some 
points,  in  regard  to  which — as  between  any  two  women  that 
maybe  selected — each  commiserated  the  other's  mistaken  views, 
they  soon  discovered  many  reasons  lor  mutual  sympathy  and 
mutual  appreciation.  Mrs.  Blake  had  the  greater  courage, 
Mrs.  Waldo  the  greater  tact.  The  latter  had  more  natural 
grace  and  pliancy,  the  former  more  acquired  refinement  of 


324  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

manner.  They  were  alike  in  the  correctness  of  their  instincts, 
but  in  Mrs.  Blake  the  faculty  had  been  more  exquisitely  de- 
veloped, through  her  greater  social  experience.  It  was  the 
same  air,  in  the  same  key,  but  played  an  octave  higher.  Mrs. 
Waldo  was  more  inclined  to  receive  her  enjoyment  of  life 
through  impulse  and  immediate  sensation  ;  Mrs.  Blake  through 
a  philosophic  discrimination.  Both,  perhaps,  would  have 
borne  misfortune  with  like  calmness  ;  but  the  resignation  of 
one  would  have  sprung  from  her  temperament,  and  of  the 
other  from  her  reason.  The  fact  that  the  resemblances  in  their 
matured  womanhood  were  developed  from  different  bases  of 
character,  increased  the  interest  and  respect  which  they 
mutually  felt. 

On  one  point,  at  least,  they  were  heartily  in  accord  ;  namely, 
their  friendship  for  Woodbury.  Mrs.  Blake  was  familiar, 
as  we  have  already  described,  with  his  early  manhood  in  New 
York,  and  furnished  Mrs.  Waldo  many  interesting  particulars 
in  return  for  the  description  which  the  latter  gave  of  his  life 
at  Lakeside.  They  were  also  agreed  that  there  was  too  much 
masculine  sweetness  in  him  to  be  wasted  on  the  desert  air,  and 
that  the  place,  beautiful  as  it  was,  could  never  be  an  actual 
home  until  he  had  brought  a  mistress  to  it. 

"  He  was  already  chafing  under  Mrs.  Babb's  rule,"  said  Mrs. 
Waldo,  as  they  walked  up  and  down  the  broad  garden-alley, 
"and  he  will  be  less  satisfied  with  the  new  housekeeper. 
Bute's  wife — as  she  will  be — is  a  much  more  agreeable  per- 
son, and  will  no  doubt  try  to  do  her  best,  but  he  will  get  very 
tired  of  her  face  and  her  silly  talk.  It  will  be  all  the  worse 
because  she  has  not  a  single  characteristic  strong  enough  for 
him  to  seize  upon  and  say :  This  offends  me !  You  know  what 
I  mean  ?" 

"  Perfectly ;  and  your  remark  is  quite  correct.  Mr.  Wood- 
bury  is  one  of  those  men  who  demand  positive  character,  of 
some  kind,  in  the  persons  with  whom  they  associate.  He  likes 
fast  colors,  and  this  new  housekeeper,  from  your  description, 
must  be  a  piece  that  will  fade  the  longer  it  is  used.  In  that 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  325 

case,  she  will  become  intolerable  to  him,  though  she  may  not 
possess  one  serious  fault." 

"  That  characteristic  of  his,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  "is  the  very 
reason,  I  think,  why  it  will  be  difficult  for  him  to  find  a  wife." 

"  By  the  by,"  asked  Mrs.  Blake,  pausing  in  her  walk,  "  he 
spoke  to  me,  when  we  met  on  the  Saguenay,  of  one  woman, 
here,  in  your  neighborhood,  who  seems  to  have  made  a  strong 
impression  upon  his  mind." 

"  It  was  certainly  Hannah  Thurston  !" 

"  He  did  not  give  me  her  name.  He  seemed  to  admire  her 
sincerely,  except  in  one  fatal  particular — she  is  strong-minded." 

"  Yes,  it  is  Hannah  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo.  "She  is  a 
noble  girl,  and  every  way  worthy  of  such  a  man  as  he — that  is, 
if  she  were  not  prejudiced  against  all  men." 

"  You  quite  interest  me  about  her.  I  heard  Bessie  Stryker 
once,  when  she  lectured  in  St.  Louis,  and  must  confess  that, 
while  she  did  not  convince  me,  I  could  see  very  well  how 
she  had  convinced  herself.  Since  then,  I  have  been  rather  tole- 
rant towards  the  strong-minded  class.  The  principal  mistakes 
they  make  arise  from  the  fact  of  their  not  being  married,  or  of 
having  moral  and  intellectual  milksops  for  husbands.  In  either 
case,  no  woman  can  understand  our  sex,  or  the  opposite." 

"  I  have  said  almost  the  same  thing  to  Hannah  Thurston," 
Mrs.  Waldo-  remarked.  "  If  she  would  only  take  one  step, 
the  true  knowledge  would  come.  But  she  won't." 

"I  suspect  she  has  not  yet  found  her  Fate,"  said  Mrs.  Blake. 
"  Was  she  ever  in  love,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  sure  of  it.  She  has  refused  two  good  offers 
of  marriage  to  my  knowledge,  and  one  of  them  was  from  a 
man  who  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  Women's  Rights.  I  can't 
understand  her,  though  I  love  her  dearly,  and  we  have  been 
intimate  for  years." 

"Can  you  not  contrive  a  way  for  me  to  make  her  acquaint- 
ance ?" 

"  Whenever  you  please.  I  have  no  doubt  she  remembers 
the  story  Mr.  Woodbury  told  us  last  winter.  I  am  hostess, 


326  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

now,  you  know,  and  I  can  invite  her  to  dinner  to-morrow,  only 
I  must  ask  somebody  else.  I  have  it!  Mr.  Woodbury  must 
invite  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Styles.  It  will  not  do  for  him  to  show  too 
much  partiality  to  our  little  sect,  and  that  will  keep  up  the  bal- 
ance of  civility." 

Woodbury  accepted  the  proposition  with  more  satisfaction 
than  he  judged  proper  to  express.  It  was  the  very  object  he 
desired  to  accomplish,  yet  which  he  could  not  himself  mention 
without  exciting  suspicions  in  the  minds  of  both  the  ladies. 
He  had  not  seen  Hannah  Thurston  since  his  return,  and  felt  a 
strange  curiosity  to  test  his  own  sensations  when  they  should 
meet  again.  Under  the  circumstances,  the  invitation  could  be 
given  and  accepted  without  in  the  least  violating  the  social 
propriety  of  Ptolemy. 

The  disturbing  emotion  which  had  followed  her  last  inter- 
view with  Woodbury  had  entirely  passed  away  from  Hannah 
Thurston's  mind.  Her  momentary  resolution  to  avoid  seeing 
him  again,  presented  itself  to  her  as  a  confession  of  weakness. 
A  studied  avoidance  of  his  society  would  be  interpreted  as 
springing  from  a  hostility  which  she  did  not  feel.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  culture  attracted  her :  his  bearing  towards  her  was 
gratefully  kind  and  respectful,  and  she  acknowledged  a  certain 
intellectual  pleasure  in  his  conversation,  even  when  it  assailed 
her  dearest  convictions.  Her  mother's  health,  always  fluctu- 
ating with  the  season  and  the  weather,  had  somewhat  improved 
in  the  last  calm,  warm  days  of  August,  and  she  could  safely 
leave  her  for  a  few  hours  in  Miss  Dil  worth's  charge.  The  lat- 
ter, indeed,  begged  her  to  go,  that  she  might  bring  back  a 
minute  account  of  Bute's  grade  of  convalescence.  In  short, 
there  was  no  plausible  excuse  for  declining  the  invitation,  had 
she  been  disposed  to  seek  one. 

It  was  a  quiet  but  very  agreeable  dinner-party.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Styles  were  both  amiable  and  pleasantly  receptive  persons,  and 
Mrs.  Waldo  took  care  that  they  should  not  be  overlooked  in 
the  lively  flow  of  talk.  Hannah  Thurston,  who  was  seated  beside 
Mr.  Blake  and  opposite  his  wife,  soon  overcame  her  first  timid- 


A   STORY    OF   AMEBICAN   LIFE.  327 

ity,  and  conversed  freely  and  naturally  with  her  new  acquaint- 
ances. Woodbury's  reception  of  her  had  been  frank  and  kind, 
but  he  had  said  less  to  her  than  on  former  occasions.  Never- 
theless, she  occasionally  had  a  presentiment  that  his  eyes  were 
upon  her — that  he  listened  to  her,  aside,  when  he  was  engaged 
in  conversing  with  his  other  guests.  It  was  an  absurd  fancy,  of 
course,  but  it  constantly  returned. 

After  dinner,  the  company  passed  out  upon  the  veranda,  or 
seated  themselves  under  the  old  oaks^  to  enjoy  the  last  mellow 
sunshine  of  the  afternoon.     Mrs.  Blake  and  Hannah  Thurston 
found  themselves  a  little  apart  from  the  others — an  opportunity 
which  the  former  had  sought.     Each  was  attracted  towards 
the  other  by  an  interest  which  directed  their  thoughts  to  the 
same  person,  and  at  the  same  time  restrained  their  tongues 
from  uttering  his  name.     Hannah  Thurston  had  immediately 
recognized  in  her  new  acquaintance  the  same  mental  poise  and 
self-possession,  which,  in  Woodbury,  had  extorted  her  unwil- 
ling respect,  while  it  so  often  disconcerted  her.     She  knew 
that  the  two  were  natives  of  the  same  social  climate,  and  was 
curious  to  ascertain  whether  they  shared  the  same  views  of 
life — whether,  in  fact,  those  views  were  part  of  a  conventional 
creed  adopted  by  the  class  to  which  they  belonged,  or,  in  each 
case,  the  mature  conclusions   of  an  honest  and  truth-seeking 
nature.     With  one  of  her  own  sex  she  felt  stronger  and  better 
armed  to  defend  herself.     Mrs.  Blake  was  not  a  woman  of  un- 
usual intellect,  but  what  she  did  possess  was  awake  and  active, 
to  its  smallest  fibre.     What  she  lacked  in  depth,  she  made  up 
in  quickness  and  clearness  of  vision.     She  did  not  attempt  to  fol- 
low abstract  theories,  or  combat  them,  but  would  let  fall,  as  if 
by  accident,  one  of  the  sharp,  positive  truths,  with  which  both 
instinct  and  experience  had  stored  her  mind,  and  which  never 
failed  to  prick  and  let  the  wind  out  of  every  bubble  blown  to- 
wards her.     This  faculty,  added  to  the  advantage  of  sex,  made 
her  the  most  dangerous  antagonist  Hannah  Thurston  could 
have  met.     But  the  latter,  unsuspecting,  courted  her  fate. 
The    conversation,   commencing  with  the   beauties   of  the 


328  HANSTAH  THFKSTON: 

landscape,  branching  thence  to  Ptolemy  and  its  inhabitants,  to 
their  character,  their  degree  of  literary  cultivation,  and  the 
means  of  enlightenment  which  they  enjoyed,  rapidly  and 
naturally  approached  the  one  important  topic.  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton  mentioned,  among  other  things,  the  meetings  which  were 
held  in  the  interest  of  Temperance,  Anti-Slavery,  Non-Resist- 
ance, and  Women's  Rights  ;  Mrs.  Blake  gave  her  impressions 
of  Bessie  Stryker's  lecture :  Hannah  Thurston  grasped  the 
whole  gauntlet  where  only  the  tip  of  a  finger  had  been  pre- 
sented, and  both  women  were  soon  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
debatable  ground. 

"  What  I  most  object  to,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  "  is  that  women 
should  demand  a  sphere  of  action  for  which  they  are  incapaci- 
tated— understand  me,  not  by  want  of  intellect,  but  by  sex." 

"Do  you  overlook  all  the  examples  which  History  fur- 
nishes ?"  cried  Hannah  Thurston.  "  What  is  there  that  Wo- 
man has  not  done  ?" 

"  Commanded  an  army." 

"Zenobia!" 

"  And  was  brought  in  chains  to  Rome.  Founded  an  em- 
pire ?" 

"  She  has  ruled  empires  !" 

"After  they  were  already  made,  and  with  the  help  of  men. 
Established  a  religion  ?  Originated  a  system  of  philosophy  ? 
Created  an  order  of  architecture  ?  Developed  a  science  ?  In- 
vented a  machine  ?" 

"I  am  sure  I  could  find  examples  of  her  having  distin- 
guished herself  in  all  these  departments  of  intellect,"  Hannah 
Thurston  persisted. 

"Distinguished  herself!  Ah!  yes,  I  grant  it.  After  the 
raw  material  of  knowledge  has  been  dug  up  and  quarried  out, 
and  smelted,  and  hewn  into  blocks,  she  steps  in  with  her  fine 
hand  and  her  delicate  tools,  and  assists  man  in  elaborating  the 
nicer  details.  But  she  has  never  yet  done  the  rough  work, 
and  I  don't  believe  she  ever  will." 

"  But  with  the  same  education — the  same  preparation — the 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  329 

same  advantages,  from  birth,  which  man  possesses  ?  She  is 
taught  to  anticipate  a  contracted  sphere — she  is  told  that  these 
pursuits  were  not  meant  for  her  sex,  and  the  determination  to 
devote  herself  to  them  comes  late,  when  it  comes  at  all.  Those 
intellectual  muscles  which  might  have  had  the  same  vigor  as 
man's,  receive  no  early  training.  She  is  thus,  cheated  out  of 
the  very  basis  of  her  natural  strength :  if  she  has  done  so 
much,  fettered,  what  might  she  not  do  if  her  limbs  were  free?'* 
Hannah  Thurston's  face  glowed :  her  eyes  kindled,  and  her 
voice  came  sweet  and  strong  with  the  intensity  of  a  faith  that 
would  not  allow  itself  to  be  shaken.  She  was  wholly  lost  in 
her  subject. 

After  a  pause,  Mrs.  Blake  quietly  said  :  "  Yes,  if  we  had 
broad  shoulders,  and  narrow  hips,  we  could  no  doubt  wield 
sledge-hammers,  and  quarry  stone,  and  reef  sails  in  a  storm." 

Again  the  same  chill  as  Woodbury's  conversation  had  some- 
times invoked,  came  over  Hannah  Thurston's  feelings.  Here 
was  the  same  dogged  adherence  to  existing  facts,  she  thought, 
the  same  lack  of  aspiration  for  a  better  order  of  things !  The 
assertion,  which  she  would  have  felt  inclined  to  resent  in  a 
man,  saddened  her  in  a  woman.  The  light  faded  from  her 
face,  and  she  said,  mournfully:  "Yes,  the  physical  superiority 
of  man  gives  him  an  advantage,  by  which  our  sex  is  overawed 
and  held  in  subjection.  But  the  rule  of  force  cannot  last  for- 
ever. If  woman  would  but  assert  her  equality  of  intellect, 
and  claim  her  share  of  the  rights  belonging  to  human  intelli- 
gence, she  would  soon  transform  the  world." 

Mrs.  Blake  instantly  interpreted  the  change  in  countenance 
and  tone  ;  it  went  far  towards  giving  her  the  key  to  Hannah 
Thurston's  nature.  Dropping  the  particular  question  which 
had  been  started,  she  commenced  anew.  "  When  I  lived  in ' 
New  York,"  said  she,  "I  had  many  acquaintances  among  the 
artists,  and  what  I  learned  of  them  and  their  lives  taught  me 
this  lesson — that  there  can  be  no  sadder  mistake  than  to  mis- 
calculate one's  powers.  There  is  very  little  of  the  ideal  and 
imaginative  element  in  me,  as  you  see,  but  I  have  learned  its 


330  HAISTISTAH   THUESTON  I 

nature  from  observation.  I  have  never  met  any  man  who  in- 
spired me  with  so  much  pity  as  a  painter  whom  I  knew,  who 
might  have  produced  admirable  tavern-signs,  but  who  per- 
sisted in  giving  to  the  world  large  historical  pictures,  which 
were  shocking  to  behold.  No  recognition  came  to  the  man, 
for  there  was  nothing  to  be  recognized.  If  he  had  moderated 
his  ambition,  he  might  at  least  have  gained  a  living,  but  he 
was  ruined  before  he  could  be  brought  to  perceive  the  truth, 
and  then  died,  I  am  sure,  of  a  broken  heart." 

"And  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Thurston,  slowly,  "that  I — 
that  we  who  advocate  the  just  claims  of  our  sex,  are  making 
the  same  mistake." 

"  I  mean,"  Mrs.  Blake  answered,  "  that  you  should  be  very 
careful  not  to  over-estimate  the  capacity  of  our  sex  by  your 
own,  as  an  individual  woman.  You  may  be  capable — under 
certain  conditions — of  performing  any  of  the  special  intel- 
lectual employments  of  Man,  but  to  do  so  you  must  sacrifice 
your  destiny  as  a  woman — you  must  seal  up  the  wells  from 
which  a  woman  draws  her  purest  happiness." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  Ah,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  tenderly,  "  if  your  hair 
were  as  gray  as  mine,  and  you  had  two  such  creatures  about 
you  as  Josey  and  George  yonder,  you  would  not  ask.  There 
are  times  when  a  woman  has  no  independent  life  of  her  own 
— when  her  judgment  is  wavering  and  obscured — when  her 
impulses  are  beyond  her  control.  The  business  of  the  world 
must  go  on,  in  its  fixed  order,  whether  she  has  her  share  in  it 
or  not.  Congresses  cannot  be  adjourned  nor  trials  postponed, 
nor  suffering  patients  neglected,  to  await  her  necessities.  The 
prime  of  a  man's  activity  is  the  period  of  her  subjection.  She 
must  then  begin  her  political  career  in  the  decline  of  her 
faculties,  when  she  will  never  be  able  to  compete  successfully 
with  man,  in  any  occupation  which  he  has  followed  from 
youth." 

Hannah  Thurston  felt  that  there  must  be  truth  in  these 
words.  At  least  it  was  not  for  her,  in  her  maiden  ignorance, 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  331 

to  contradict  them.  But  she  was  sure,  nevertheless,  that  Mrs. 
Blake's  statement  was  not  sufficient  to  overthrow  her  theory 
of  woman's  equality.  She  reflected  a  moment  before  she 
spoke  again,  and  her  tone  was  less  earnest  and  confident  than 
usual. 

"  The  statesmen  and  jurists,  the  clergymen,  physicians,  and 
men  of  science,"  she  said,  "  comprise  but  a  small  number  of 
the  men.  Could  not  our  sex  spare  an  equal  number  ?  Would 
not  some  of  us  sacrifice  a  part  of  our  lives,  if  it  were 
necessary"  ?" 

"And  lose  the  peace  and  repose  of  domestic  life,  which 
consoles  and  supports  the  public  life  of  man !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Blake.  "  It  is  not  in  Ms  nature  to  make  this  sacrifice — still 
less  is  it  in  ours.  You  do  not  think  what  you  are  saying. 
There  is  no  true  woman  but  feels  at  her  bosom  the  yearning 
for  a  baby's  lips.  The  milk  that  is  never  sucked  dries  into  a 
crust  around  her  heart.  There  is  no  true  woman  but  longs, 
in  her  secret  soul,  for  a  man's  breast  to  lay  her  head  on,  a 
man's  eyes  to  give  her  the  one  look  which  he  gives  to  no- 
body else  in  the  world  !" 

Hannah  Thurston's  eyes  fell  before  those  of  Mrs.  Blake. 
She  painfully  felt  the  warm  flush  that  crept  over  neck,  and 
cheek,  and  brow,  betraying  her  secret,  but  betraying  it,  for- 
tunately, to  a  noble  and  earnest-hearted  woman.  A  silence 
ensued,  which  neither  knew  how  to  break. 

"  What  are  you  plotting  so  seriously  ?"  broke  in  Wood- 
bury' s  voice,  close  behind  them.  "  I  must  interrupt  this  tete- 
cl-tete,  Mrs.  Blake.  See  what  you  are  losing  ?" 

They  both  rose  and  turned,  in  obedience  to  the  movement 
of  his  hand.  The  sun  had  sunk  so  low  that  the  shade  of  the 
western  hill  filled  all  the  bed  of  the  valley,  and  began  to  creep 
up  the  eastern  side.  A  light  blue  film  was  gathering  over  the 
marsh  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  where  it  divided  into  two  lines, 
pointing  up  the  creeks.  But  the  patches  of  woodland  on  the 
East  Atauga  hill,  the  steep  fields  of  tawny  oat-stubble,  and  the 
fronts  of  white  farm-houses  and  barns  in  the  distance,  were 


332  HANNAH   THTJESTOK  : 

drowned  in  a  bath  of  airy  gold,  slowly  deepening  into  flame- 
color  as  its  tide-mark  rose  higher  on  the  hills.  Over  Ptolemy 
a  mountain  of  fire  divided  the  forking  valleys,  which  receded 
on  either  hand,*  southward,  into  dim  depths  of  amethyst. 
Higher  and  higher  crept  the  splendor,  until  it  blazed  like  a 
fringe  on  the  topmost  forests  and  fields :  then  it  suddenly  went 
out  and  was  transferred  to  a  rack  of  broken  cloud,  overhead. 

Mrs.  Styles  presently  made  her  appearance,  bonneted  for 
the  return  to  Ptolemy.  Hannah  ThurSton  was  to  accompany 
her.  But  as  they  drove  homewards  through  the  cool  evening 
air,  through  the  ripe  odors  of  late-flowering  grasses,  and  the 
golden-rods  on  the  road-banks  and  the  eupatoriums  in  the 
meadows,  it  was  the  passionate  yearning  of  the  woman,  not 
the  ambition  of  the  man,  which  had  entire  possession  of  her 


A    STOEY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  333 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

IN   WHICH   A   WEDDING   TAKES   PLACE. 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  s'aid  Mrs.  Blake,  the  same 
evening,  as  they  were  all  gathered  together  in  the  library, 
"  that  I  have  taken  an  immense  liking  to  your  strong-minded 
woman?" 

"  Indeed  !"  he  remarked,  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  Yes.  I  had  a  serious  talk  with  her.  I  employed  a  moral 
probe,  and  what  do  you  think  I  found  ?" 

"What  ?''  he  repeated,  turning  towards  her  with  an  expres- 
sion of  keen  interest. 

"No,  it  would  not  be  fair,"  tantalizingly  answered  Mrs. Blake, 
in  her  most  deliberate  tones.  "  I  shall  not  betray  any  discoveries 
I  have  accidentally  made.  She  is  too  earnest  and  genuine  a 
nature  to  be  disposed  of  with  a  pleasantry.  I  will  only  say 
this — as  far  as  she  is  wrong — which,  of  course,  is  admitting 
that  she  is  partly  right,  I,  woman  as  I  am,  would  undertake 
to  convince  her  of  it.  A  man,  therefore,  ought  to  be  able  to 
restore  her  to  the  true  faith  more  easily.  Yet  you  have  been 
living  at  Lakeside  nearly  a  year  and  have  not  succeeded." 

"  I  have  never  tried,  my  friend,"  said  Woodbuiy. 

"  Really?" 

"  Of  course  not.  Why  should  I  ?  She  is  relentless  in  her 
prejudices,  even  in  those  which  spring  from  her  limited  knowl- 
edge of  life.  The  only  cure  for  such  is  in  a  wider  experience. 
She  cannot  understand  that  a  humane  and  liberal  tolerance  of 
all  varieties  of  habit  and  opinion  is  compatible  with  sincerity 
of  character.  She  would  make  every  stream  turn  some  kind 
of  a  mill,  while  I  am  willing  to  see  one  now  and  then  dash 


334  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

itself  to  pieces  over  the  rocks,  for  the  sake  of  the  spray  and 
the  rainbows.  I  confess,  though,  that  I  do  not  think  this 
moral  rigidity  is  entirely  natural  to  her ;  but  the  very  fact  that 
she  has  slowly  reasoned  herself  into  it,  and  so  intrenched  and 
defended  herself  against  attack  from  all  quarters,  makes  it  so 
much  the  more  difficult  for  her  to  strike  her  flag.  If  you 
were  to  approach  her  position  disarmed  and  propose  a  truce, 
she  would  look  upon  it  as  the  stratagem  of  an  enemy." 

"  No,  no !"  cried  Mrs.  Blake,  shaking  her  head,  with  a  mis- 
chievous sparkle  in  her  eyes;  "that  is  not  the  way  at  all! 
Don't  you  know  that  a  strong  woman  can  only  be  overcome 
by  superior  strength?  No  white  flags — no  proposals  of 
truce — but  go,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  fire  a  train  to  the 
mine  which  shall  blow  her  fortress  to  atoms  in  a  moment !" 

"  Bravo  !  What  a  commander  is  lost  to  the  world  in  you ! 
But  suppose  I  don't  see  any  train  to  the  mine  ?" 

"  Pshaw !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blake,  turning  away  in  mock 
contempt.  "  You  know  very  well  that  there  is  but  one  kind 
of  moral  gunpowder  to  be  used  in  such  cases.  I  am  going  to 
drive  into  Ptolemy  this  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Waldo,  and  I 
shall  make  a  call  at  the  Thurston  cottage.  Will  you  go  with 
us?" 

"  Thank  you,  not  to-day.  Mr.  Blake  and  I  have  arranged 
to  take  a  boat  on  the  Lake  and  fish  for  pickerel.  It  is  better 
sport  than  firing  trains  of  moral  gunpowder." 

The  two  ladies  drove  into  Ptolemy  as  they  had  proposed. 
Mrs.  Blake  made  herself  quite  at  home  at  the  Cimmerian 
Parsonage,  where  she  recognized  the  Christus  Consolator  as 
an  old  friend  out  of  her  own  bedroom,  and  went  into  raptures 
over  Hannah  Thurston's  bouquet  of  grasses.  She  mentally 
determined  to  procure  from  the  donor  a  similar  ornament  for 
her  boudoir  in  St.  Louis,  and  managed  the  matter,  indeed, 
with  such  skill  that  Miss  Thurston  innocently  supposed  the 
ofier  to  make  and  forward  the  bouquet  came  spontaneously 
from  herself. 

To  the  Widow  Thurston's  cottage  Mrs.  Blake  came  like  a 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  335 

strong,  refreshing  breeze.  In  other  households,  her  sharp, 
clear,  detective  nature  might  have  uncomfortably  blown 
away  the  drapery  from  many  concealed  infirmities,  but  here  it 
encountered  only  naked  truthfulness,  and  was  welcome.  She 
bowed  down  at  once  before  the  expression  of  past  trials  in 
the  old  woman's  face,  and  her  manner  assumed  a  tenderness  all 
the  sweeter  and  more  fascinating  that  it  rarely  came  to  the 
surface.  She  took  Miss  Dilworth's  measure  at  a  single  glance, 
and  the  result,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it  to  Mrs.  Waldo, 
was  much  more  favorable  than  that  lady  had  anticipated. 

"  He  could  not  have  a  better  housekeeper  than  she,  just  at 
present." 

"  Wh£,  you  astonish  me  !"  Mrs.  Waldo  exclaimed;  "why 
do  you  think  so  ?" 

"  I  have  no  particular  reason  for  thinking  so,"  Mrs.  Blake 
answered  ;  "  it's  a  presentiment." 

Mrs.  Waldo  turned  away  her  eyes  from  Dobbin's  ears 
(which  she  always  watched  with  some  anxiety,  although  the 
poor  old  beast  had  long  since  forgotten  how  to  shy  them  back), 
and  inspected  her  companion's  face.  It  was  entirely  grave 
and  serious.  "  Oh,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  puzzled  tone,  "that's 
all?" 

"Yes,  and  therefore  you  won't  think  it  worth  much. 
But  my  presentiments  are  generally  correct :  wait  and  see." 

The  Blakes  remained  over  a  Sunday,  and  went,  as  it  was 
generally  surmised  they  would,  to  the  Cimmerian  Church. 
The  attendance  was  unusually  large  on  that  day,  embracing, 
to  the  surprise  of  Mrs.  Waldo,  the  Hamilton  Bues  and  Miss 
Ruhaney  Goodwin.  On  the  entrance  of  the  strangers  into 
the  church,  a  subdued  rustling  sound  ran  along  the  benches 
(pews  were  not  allowed  by  the  Cimmerians),  and  most  of  the 
heads  turned  stealthily  towards  the  door.  The  imme- 
diate silence  that  followed  had  something  of  disappointment 
in  it.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  the  tall,  keen-eyed 
lady  in  plain  black  silk,  or  the  stout,  shrewd-faced,  gray- 
whiskered  man  who  followed  her.  Miss  Josephine's  flat  straw 


336  HANNAH   THUKSTOU: 

hat  and  blue  silk  mantilla  attracted  much  more  attention 
among  the  younger  members  of  the  congregation.  After  the 
hymn  had  been  given  out,  however,  and  the  first  bars  of  the 
triumphant  choral  of  "  Wilmot"  (according  to  the  music- 
books,  but  Carl  Maria  von  Weber  in  the  world  of  Art)  were 
heard,  a  new  voice  gradually  took  its  place  in. the  midst  of 
the  accustomed  and  imperfectly  according  sounds,  and  very 
soon  assumed  the  right  of  a  ruler,  forcing  the  others  to  keep 
step  with  it  in  the  majestic  movement  of  the  choral.  Not 
remarkably  sweet,  but  of  astonishing  strength  and  metal- 
lic sonority,  it  pealed  like  a  trumpet  at  the  head  of  the  ill- 
disciplined  four  battalions  of  singers,  and  elevated  them  to  a 
new  confidence  in  themselves. 

The  voice  was  Mrs.  Blake's-  She  professed  to  be  no  singer, 
for  she  knew  her  own  deficiencies  so  well,  that  she  never  at- 
tempted to  conceal  them;  but  her  voice  had  the  one  rare 
element,  in  a  woman,  of  power,  and  was  therefore  admirably 
effective  in  a  certain  range  of  subjects.  In  society  she  rarely 
sang  any  except  Scotch  songs,  and  of  these  especially  such  as 
dated  from  the  rebellion  of  1745 — those  gloriously  defiant 
lays,  breathing  of  the  Highlands  and  the  heather  and  bonnie 
Prince  Charlie,  which  cast  an  immortal  poetic  gleam  over  the 
impotent  attempt  to  restore  a  superannuated  dynasty.  Had 
she  lived  in  those  days  Mrs.  Blake  might  have  sung  the  slogan 
to  the  gathering  clans :  as  it  was,  these  songs  were  the  only 
expression  of  the  fine  heroic  capacity  which  was  latent  in  her 
nature.  She  enjoyed  the  singing  fully  as  much  as  her  auditors 
the  hearing,  and,  if  the  truth  could  be  distinctly  known,  it  is 
quite  probable  that  she  had  prompted  Mr.  Waldo  in  his  se- 
lection of  the  hymn.  Her  participation  in  it  threw  the  whole 
Cimmerian  congregation  on  her  side,  and  the  Hamilton  Bues 
privately  expressed  their  belief  that  the  clergyman  had  taken 
an  undue  advantage  of  his  opportunities  as  a  guest  at  Lake- 
side, to  instil  his  heretical  ideas  of  baptism  into  the  minds  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blake.  It  transpired  afterwards,  however,  that 
the  latter  were  Episcopalian,  both  by  faith  and  inheritance. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  337 

The  day  at  last  arrived  for  the  breaking  up  of  the  new 
household,  to  the  great  regret  of  all  its  members.  Miss  Jose- 
phine tore  herself  with  difficulty  from  the  library,  only  par- 
tially consoled  by  the  present  of  "  Undine"  and  "  Sintraim." 
George  wanted  to  stay  with  Bute  and  learn  to  trap  musk-rats 
and  snare  rabbits.  Mr.  Waldo  half  sheathed  his  teeth  with 
his  insufficient  lips  and  went  back  to  his  plain  fare  with  a  sigh 
of  resignation.  The  ladies  kissed  each  other,  and  Woodbury 
would  assuredly  have  kissed  them  bpth  if  he  had  known  how 
charitably  they  would  have  received  the  transgression.  Bute 
was  embarrassed  beyond  all  his  previous  experience  by  the 
present  of  half  a  dozen  silver  tea-spoons  which  Mrs.  Blake 
had  bought  in  Ptolemy  and  presented  to  him  through  her  boy 
George. 

•"You  are  going  to  begin  housekeeping,  I  hear,"  said  she, 
"  and  you  must  let  George  help  you  with  the  outfit." 

Bute  colored  like  a  young  girl.  "  They're  wuth  more'n  the 
silver,  comin'  to  us  that-a-way,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I'll  tell 
Carrie,  and  we  sha'n't  never  use  'em,  without  thinkin'  o'  you 
and  George." 

The  farewells  were  said,  and  Lakeside  relapsed  into  its  ac- 
customed quiet.  The  borrowed  chambermaid  was  returned  to 
the  Ptolemy  House,  and  the  old  Melinda  alone  remained  in 
the  kitchen,  to  prepare  her  incomparable  corn-cake  and  broiled 
chicken.  Bute  was  now  able,  with  proper  precautions,  to 
walk  about  the  farm  and  direct  the  necessary  labor,  without 
taking  part  in  it.  Woodbury  resumed  his  former  habit  of 
horseback  exercise,  and  visited  some  of  his  acquaintances  in 
Ptolemy  and  the  neighborhood,  but  the  departure  of  his 
pleasant  guests  left  a  very  perceptible  void  in  his  life.  He 
had  sufficient  resources  within  himself  to  endure  solitude, 
but  he  was  made,  like  every  healthily-constituted  man,  for 
society. 

Thus   a  few  days   passed   away,  and  Bute's  convalescence 
began  to   take   the  hue  of  absolute  health.     He  now  visited 
Ptolemy  every  day  or  two,  to  watch  the  progress  made  in  a 
15 


338  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

certain  silver-gray  dress,  and  to  enjoy  the  exquisite  novelty  of 
consulting  Miss  Dilworth  about  their  future  household  ar 
rangements.  The  latter  sometimes,  from  long  habit,  reassumed 
her  former  air  of  coquetry,  but  it  was  no  longer  tantalizing 
and  an  earnest  word  or  look  sufficed  to  check  her.  A  charm- 
ing humility  took  the  place  of  her  affected  superiority,  and 
became  her  vastly  better,  as  she  had  sense  enough  to  discern. 
Her  ringlets  had  disappeared  forever,  and  her  eyelids  grad- 
ually recovered  strength  for  an  open  and  steady  glance.  In 
fact,  her  eyes  were  prettier  than  she  had  supposed.  Their 
pale  beryl-tint  deepened  into -brown  at  the  edges,  and  when 
the  pupil  expanded  in  a  subdued  light,  they  might  almost  have 
been  called  hazel.  *  In  Spain  they  would  have  been  sung  as 
"  ojos  verdes"  by  the  poets.  On  the  whole,  Bute  had  chosen 
more  sensibly  than  we  supposed,  when  we  first  made  Miss 
Dilworth's  acquaintance. 

The  arrangements  for  the  wedding  were  necessarily  few  and 
simple.  Woodbury  first  proposed  that  it  should  be  solemnized 
at  Lakeside,  but  Mrs.  Waldo  urged,  that,  since  her  husband 
was  to  officiate  on  the  occasion,  it  would  be  better  for  many 
reasons — one  of  which  was  Mrs.  Babb's  recent  death — that  it 
should  take  place  at  the  parsonage.  Miss  Dilworth  was  se- 
cretly bent  on  having  a  bridesmaid,  who  should,  of  course,  be 
Hannah  Thurston,  but  was  obliged  to  relinquish  her  project, 
through  the  unexpected  resistance  which  it  encountered  on 
the  part  of  Bute.  "None  of  the  fellows  that  I  could  ask  to 
stand  up  with  me  would  do  for  Aer,"  said  he. 

"  Why  not  Mr.  Woodbury  ?"  suggested  Miss  Carrie. 

"  He  !  Well — he'd  do  it  in  a  minute  if  I  was  to  ask  him,  but 
I  won't.  Between  you  and  me,  Carrie,  they  can't  bear  each 
other  ;  they're  like  cats  and  dogs." 

"  Bute  !  a'n't  you  ashamed  ?" 

"  What  ?  O'  tellin'  the  truth  ?  No,  nor  a'n't  likely  to  be. 
See  here,  Carrie,  why  can't  we  let  it  alone  ?  Mr.  Waldo'll  tie 
us  jist  as  tight,  all  the  same,  and  when  it's  over  you  won't 
know  the  difference." 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.       ".  339 

"  But — Bute,"  Miss  Carrie  persisted,  "  I  think  she  expects 
it  of  me." 

"  She  ha' n't  set  her  heart  on  it,  I'll  be  bound.  I'll  ask  her. 
Miss  Hannah !" 

The  two  were  in  the  open  air,  at  the  corner  of  the  cottage 
nearest  the  garden.  The  window  of  the  little  sitting-room 
was  open,  and  Bute's  call  brought  Miss  Thurstori  to  it. 

"  Oh,  Bute,  don't !"  pleaded  Miss  Dilworth,  ready  to  cry, 
but  he  had  already  gone  too  far  to  stop.  "Miss  Hannah," 
said  he,  "  we're  talkin'  about  the  weddin'.  I'm  thinkin'  it'll 
be  jist  as  well  without  waiters.  Carrie'd  like  to  have  you  for 
bridesmaid,  and  I'm  sure  I'd  be  glad  of  it,  only,  you  know, 
you'd  have  to  stand  up  with  somebody  on  my  side,  and  there's 
nobody  I  could  ask  but  Mr.  Max,  and — and  I'm  afraid  that 
wouldn't  be  agreeable,  like,  for  either  o'  you." 

"  Bute !"  cried  Carrie,  in  real  distress. 

Bute,  however,  was  too  sure  of  the  truth  of  what  he  had 
said  to  suspect  that  he  could  possibly  give  pain  by  uttering  it. 
The  first  rude  shock  of  his  words  over-,  Hannah  Thurston  felt 
greatly  relieved.  "  You  were  right  to  tell  me,  Arbutus,"  said 
she ;  "  for,  although  I  should  be  quite  willing,  at  another  time, 
to  do  as  Carrie  wishes,  no  matter  whom  you  might  choose  as 
your  nearest  friend,  I  think  it  best,  'at  present,  that  there 
should  be  as  little  ceremony  as  possible.  I  will  talk  with  you 
about  it  afterwards,  Carrie."  And  she  moved  away  from  the 
window. 

At  length  the  important  day  arrived.  Bute  woke  when  the 
cocks  crowed  three  o'clock,  and  found  it  impossible  to  get  to 
sleep  again.  His  new  clothes  (not  made  by  Seth  Wattles) 
were  in  the  top  drawer  of  the  old  bureau,  and  Melinda  had 
laid  some  sprigs  of  lavender  among  them.  He  tried  to 
imagine  how  he  would  look  in  them,  how  he  would  feel  during 
the  ceremony  and  afterwards,  how  curious  it  must  be  to  have 
a  wife  of  your  own,  and  everybody  know  it.  He  pictured  to 
himself  his  friends  on  the  neighboring  farms,  saying :  "  How's 
your  wife,  Bute  ?"  when  they  met,  and  then  he  thought  of 


340  HANNAH   THTJESTON  : 

Mother  Forty,  and  what  a  pity  that  she  had  not  lived  long 
enough  to  know  Carrie  Wilson — who,  of  course,  would  be  a 
very  different  creature  from  Carrie  Dilworth ;  but  he  always 
came  back  to  the  new  clothes  in  the  top  bureau-drawer,  and 
the  duty  of  the  day  that  was  beginning  to  dawn.  Then,  he 
heard  Pat.'s  voice  among  the  cattle  at  the  barn ;  then,  a  stir- 
ring in  the  kitchen  under  him,  and  presently  the  noise  of  the 
coffee-mill — and  stilt  it  was  not  light  enough  to  shave  !  More 
slowly  than  ever  before  the  sun  rose  ;  his  toilet,  which  usually 
lasted  five  minutes,  took  half  an  hour  ;  he  combed  his  hair  in 
three  different  ways,  none  of  which  was  successful ;  and  finally 
went  down  to  breakfast,  feeling  more  awkward  and  uncom- 
fortable than  ever  before  in  his  life. 

Woodbury  shook  hands  with  him  and  complimented  him  on 
his  appearance,  after  which  he  felt  more  composed.  The 
preparations  for  the  ride  to  Ptolemy,  nevertheless,  impressed 
him  with  a  certain  solemnity,  as  if  he  were  a  culprit  awaiting 
execution  or  a  corpse  awaiting  bnrial.  A  feeling  of  helpless- 
ness came  over  him :  the  occasion  seemed  to  have  been 
brought  about,  not  so  much  by  his  own  will  as  by  an  omnipo- 
tent fate  which  had  taken  him  at  his  word.  Presently  Pat. 
came  up  grinning,  dressed  in  his  Sunday  suit,  and  announced: 
"  The  hosses  is  ready,  Misther  Bute,  and  it'll  be  time  we're 
off."  After  the  ceremony  Pat.  was  to  drive  the  happy  pair  to 
Tiberius,  where  they  proposed  spending  a  honeymoon  of  two 
days  with  the  bride's  old  aunt.  He  wore  a  bright  blue  coat 
with  brass  buttons,  and  Melinda  had  insisted  on  pinning  a 
piece  of  white  ribbon  on  the  left  Lippel,  "  Kase,"  as  she  re- 
marked, "  down  Souf  ole  Missus  always  had  'urn  so." 

Woodbury  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off,  in  advance, 
through  the  soft  September  morning.  At  the  parsonage  he 
found  every  thing  in  readiness.  Mrs.  Waldo,  sparkling  with 
satisfaction,  rustled  about  in  a  dark-green  silk  (turned,  and 
with  the  spots  carefully  erased  by  camphene),  vibrating  inces- 
santly between  the  little  parlor  where  the  ceremony  was  to 
take  place,  and  the  bedroom  up-stairs,  where  the  bride  was 


A   STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  341 

being  arrayed  under  the  direction  of  Hannah  Thurston. 
Nothing,  as  she  candidly  confessed,  enlisted  her  sympathies  so 
completely  as  a  wedding,  and  it  was  the  great  inconvenience 
of  a  small  congregation  that  her  husband  had  so  few  occasions 
to  officiate. 

u  Promise  me,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  said,  as  she  finally 
paused  in  her  movements,  from  the  impossibility  of  finding 
any  thing  else  to  do,  "  that  you  will  be  married  by  nobody  but 
Mr.  Waldo."  ;  +1; 

"I  can  safely  promise  that,"  he  answered  :  "  but  pray  don't 
ask  me  to  fix  the  time  when  it  shall  take  place." 

"  If  it  depended  on  me,  I  would  say  to-morrow.  Ah,  there 
is  Bute  !  How  nicely  he  looks !"  With  these  words  she  went 
to  the  door  and  admitted  him. 

Bute's  illness  had  bleached  the  tan  and  subdued  the  defiant 
ruddiness  of  his  skin.  In  black  broadcloth  and  the  white  silk 
gloves  (white  kids,  of  the  proper  number,  were  not  to  be 
found  in  Ptolemy)  into  which  he  had  been  unwillingly  persuaded 
to  force  his  large  hands,  an  air  of  semi-refinement  overspread 
the  strong  masculine  expression  of  his  face  and  body.  His 
hair,  thinned  by  fever  and  closely  cut,  revealed  the  shape 
of  his  well-balanced  head,  and  the  tender  blue  gleam  in  his 
honest  eyes  made  them  positively  beautiful.  Mrs.  Waldo 
expressed  her  approval  of  his  appearance,  without  the  least 
reserve. 

Soon  afterwards,  a  rustling  was  heard  on  the  stairs ;  the 
door  opened,  and  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth  entered  the  parlor  with 
blushing  cheeks  and  downcast  fyes,  followed  by  Hannah 
ThurstOD,  in  the  white  muslin  dress  and  pearl-colored  ribbons 
which  Woodbury  so  well  remembered.  The  bride  was  really 
charming  in  her  gray,  silvery  silk,  and  a  light-green  wreath 
crowning  her  rippled  hair.  Orange-blossoms  were  not  to  be 
had  in  Ptolemy,  and  there  were  no  white  garden-flowers  in 
bloom  except  larkspurs,  which  of  course  were  not  to  be 
thought  of.  Hannah  Thurston,  therefore,  persuaded  her  to 
content  herself  with  a  wreath  of  the  myrtle- leaved  box,  as  the 


342  HANNAH  THUBSTON: 

nearest  approach  to  the  conventional  bridal  diadem,  and  the 
effect  was  simple  and  becoming. 

Each  of  the  parties  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  other's 
appearance.  Bute,  not  a  little  embarrassed  as  to  how  he 
should  act,  took  Miss  Dil  worth's  hand,  and  held  it  in  his  own, 
deliberating  whether  or  not  it  was  expected  that  he  should 
kiss  her  then  and  there.  Miss  Dilworth,  finding  that  he  did 
not  let  it  go,  boldly  answered  the  pressure  and  clung  to  him 
with  a  natural  and  touching  air  of  dependence  and  reliance. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  charming  than  the  appearance 
of  the  two,  as  they  stood  together  in  the  centre  of  the  little 
room,  he  all  man,  she  all  woman,  in  the  most  sacred  moment 
of  life.  They  expressed  the  sweetest  relation  of  the  sexes,  he 
yielding  in  his  tenderness,  she  confiding  in  her  trust.  No 
declaration  of  mutual  rights,  no  suspicious  measurement  of 
the  words  of  the  compact,  no  comparison  of.  powers  granted 
with  powers  received,  but  a  blind,  unthinking,  blissful,  recipro- 
cal self-bestowal.  This  expression  in  their  attitude  and  their 
faces  did  not  escape  Hannah  Thurston's  eye.  It  forced  upon 
her  mind  doubts  which  she  would  willingly  have  avoided,  but 
which  she  was  only  strong  enough  to  postpone. 

Pat.  had  already  slipped  into  the  room,  and  stood  awkwardly 
in  a  corner,  holding  his  hat  in  both  hands.  The  only  other 
stranger  present  was  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson,  who  had  kindly 
assisted  the  bride  in  the  preparation  of  her  wardrobe,  and  who 
differed  from  her  sister  spinster,  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  in 
the  fact  that  she  was  always  more  ready  to  smile  than  sigh. 
All  being  assembled,  Mr.  Waldo  came  forward  and  performed 
the  simple  but  impressive  ceremony,  following  it  with  an 
earnest  prayer.  Miss  Carrie  lifted  up  her  head  and  pronounced 
the  "  I  will"  with  courage,  but  during  the  prayer  she  bent  it 
again  so  that  it  partly  rested  against  Bute's  shoulder.  When 
the  final  "  Amen !"  was  said,  Bute  very  gently  and  solemnly 
kissed  his  wife,  and  both  were  then  heartily  congratulated  by 
the  clergyman,  who  succeeded  in  closing  his  lips  sufficiently 
to  achieve  the  salute  which  an  old  friend  might  take  without 


A    STOEY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  343 

blame.  Then  there  were  hearty  greetings  all  round  :  the  cer- 
tificate of  marriage  was  signed  and  given  to  the  wife  for  safe- 
keeping, as  if  its  existence  were  more  important  to  her  than 
to  the  husband;  and  finally  Mrs.  Waldo  prepared  what  the 
Hon.  Zeno  Harder  would  have  called  a  "  coe-lation."  Wood- 
bury  had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  send  to  the  parsonage  a 
bottle  or  two  of  the  old  Dennison  Madeira,  rightly  judging 
that  if  Mrs.  Babb  had  been  alive,  she  would  have  desired  it 
for  the  reason  that  "  she"  would  have  done  the  same  thing. 
On  this  occasion  all  partook  of  the 'pernicious  beverage  except 
Hannah  Thurston,  and  even  she  was  surprised  to  find  but  a 
very  mild  condemnation  in  her  feelings.  The  newly-wedded 
couple  beamed  with  a  mixture  of  relief  and  contentment ; 
Carrie  was  delighted  at  hearing  herself  addressed  as  "Mrs. 
Wilson,"  and  even  Bute  found  the  words  "  your  wife,"  after 
the  first  ten  minutes,  not  the  least  strange  or  embarrassing. 

Presently,  however,  the  wife  slipped  away  to  reappear  in  a 
pink  gingham  and  a  plaid  shawl.  The  horses  were  ready  at  the 
door,  and  Pat.  was  grinning,  whip  in  hand,  as  he  stowed  away 
a  small  carpet-bag,  containing  mingled  male  and  female  articles, 
under  the  seat.  A  few  curious  spectators  waited  on  the  plank 
side-walk,  opposite,  but  Bute,  having  gone  through  the  grand 
ordeal,  now  felt  courage  to  face  the  world.  As  they  took 
their  seats,  and  Pat.  gave  a  preliminary  flourish  of  his  whip, 
Mrs.  Waldo  produced  an  ancient  slipper  of  her  own,  ready  to 
hurl  it  at  the  right  moment.  The"  horses  started  ;  the  slipper 
flew,  whizzed  between  their  heads  and  dropped  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  carriage. 

"  Don't  look  back  !"  she  cried  ;  but  there  was  no  danger  of 
that.  The  road  must  have  been  very  rough,  for  Bute  was 
obliged  to  put  his  arm  around  his  wife's  waist,  and  the  dust 
must  have  been  very  dense,  for  she  had  raised  her  handker- 
chief to  her  eyes. 

"  Will  you  take  care  of  me  to-day  ?"  said  Woodbury  to  the 
Waldos.  "  I  shall  not  go  back  to  Lakeside  until  evening." 


344  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER  XXVTI. 

DESCRIBING   CERTAIN   TROUBLES    OF   MR.  WOODBURY. 

WHEN  they  returned  to  Mrs.  Waldo's  parlor,  the  conversa- 
tion naturally  ran  upon  the  ceremony  which  had  just  been  sol- 
emnized and  the  two  chief  actors  in  it.  There  was  but  one 
judgment  in  regard  to  Bute,  and  his  wife,  also,  had  gained 
steadily  in  the  good  opinion  of  all  ever  since  her  betrothal 
beside  the  sick-bed. 

"  I  had  scarcely  noticed  her  at  all,  before  it  happened,"  said 
Woodbury,  "  for  she  impressed  me  as  a  shallow,  ridiculous, 
little  creature — one  of  those  unimportant  persons  who  seem 
to  have  no  other  use  than  to  fill  up  the  cracks  of  society.  But 
one  little  spark  of  affection  gives  light  and  color  to  the  most 
insipid  character.  Who  could  have  suspected  the  courage  and 
earnestness  of  purpose  which  took  her  to  Lakeside,  when  the 
fever  had  possession  of  the  house  ?  Since  then  I  have  heartily 
respected  her.  I  have  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  no 
amount  of  triumphant  intellect  is  worth  so  much  reverence  as 
we  spontaneously  pay  to  any  simple  and  genuine  emotion, 
common  to  all  human  beings." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 
"  Because  then  you  will  never  fail  in  a  proper  respect  to  our 
sex.  Hannah,  do  you  remember,  when  you  lent  me  Long- 
fellow's Poems,  how  much  I  liked  that  line  about  '  affection  ?' 
I  don't  often  quote,  Mr.  Woodbury,  because  I'm  never  sure  of 
getting  it  exactly  right ;  but  it's  this  : 

"  '  "What  I  esteem  in  woman 
Is  her  affection,  not  her  intellect,' 

"  And  I  believe  all  men  of  sense  do." 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  345 

"  I  cannot  indorse  the  sentiment,  precisely  in  those  words," 
Woodbury  answered.  "  I  esteem  both  affection  and  intellect 
in  woman,  but  the  first  quality  must  be  predominant.  Its  ab- 
sence in  man  may  now  and  then  be  tolerated,  but  to  woman  it 
is  indispensable." 

"  Might  not  woman  make  the  same  requirement  of  man  ?" 
Hannah  Thurston  suddenly  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  "  and  with  full  justice.  That  is 
one  point  wherein  no  one  can  dispute  the  equal  rights  of  the 
sexes.  But  the  capacity  to  love  is  a  natural  quality,  and  there 
is  no  true  aifection  where  the  parties  are  continually  measuring 
their  feelings  to  see  which  loves  the  most.  Bute  and  his  wife 
will  be  perfectly  happy  so  long  as  they  are  satisfied  with  the 
simple  knowledge  of  giving  and  receiving." 

"  That's  exactly  my  idea !"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  in  great 
delight.  "  Husband,  do  you  recollect  the  promises  we  made 
to  each  other  on  our  wedding-day  ?  There's  never  a  wedding 
happens  but  I  live  it  all  over  again.  "We  wore  Navarino  bon- 
nets then,  and  sleeves  puffed  out  with  bags  of  down,  and  you 
would  lay  your  head  on  one  of'them,  as  wet  drove  along,  just 
like  Bute  and  Carrie  to-day,  on  our  way  to  Father  Waldo's. 
I  said  then  that  I'd  never  doubt  you,  never  take  back  an  atom 
of  my  trust  in  you — and  I've  kept  my  word  from  that  day  to 
this,  and  I'll  keep  it  in  this  world  and  the  next !" 

Here  Mrs.  Waldo  actually  burst  into  tears,  but  smiled 
through  them,  like  the  sudden  rush  of  a  stream  from  which 
spray  and  rainbow  are  born  at  the  same  instant.  "  I  am  a 
silly  old  creature,"  she  said :  "  don't  mind  me.  Half  of  my 
heart  has  been  in  Carrie's  breast  all  morning,  and  I  knew  I 
should  make  a  fool  of  myself  before  the  day  was  out." 

"  You're  a  good  wife,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  patting  her  on  the 
head  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  girl. 

Hannah  Thurston  rose,  with  a  wild,  desperate  feeling  in  her 

heart.     A  pitiless  hand  seemed  to  clutch  and  crush  it  in  her 

bosom.     So,  she  thought,  some  half-drowned  sailor,  floating 

on  the  plank  of  a  wreck,  must  feel  when  the  sail  that  promised 

15* 


346  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  .* 

him  deliverance,  tacks  with  the  wind  and  slides  out  of  his 
horizon.  The  waves  of  life,  which  had  hitherto  only  stirred 
for  her  with  the  grand  tidal  pulse  which  moves  in  their  depths, 
now  heaved  threateningly  and  dashed  their  bitter  salt  in  her 
face  at  every  turn.  Whence  came  these  ominous  disturb- 
ances? What  was  there  in  the  happy  marriage  of  two 
ignorant  and  contented  souls,  to  impress  her  with  such  vague, 
intolerable  foreboding  ?  With  the  consciousness  of  her  in- 
ability to  suppress  it  came  a  feeling  of  angry  shame  at  the 
deceitfulness  of  her  own  strength.  But  perhaps — and  this 
was  a  gleam  of  hope — what  she  experienced  was  the  dis- 
appointed protest  of  an  instinct  common  to  every  human  be- 
ing, and  which  must  therefore  be  felt  and  conquered  by  others 
as  well. 

She  stole  a  glance  at  Woodbury.  His  face  was  abstracted 
but  it  expressed  no  signs  of  a  struggle  akin  to  her  own.  The 
large  brown  eyes  were  veiled  with  the  softness  of  a  tender, 
subdued  longing ;  the  full,  regular  lips,  usually  closed  with  all 
the  firmness  and  decision  of  his  character  in  their  line  of 
junction,  were  slightly  parted,  and  the  corners  drooped  with 
an  expression  unutterably  sad.  Even  over  cheeks  and  brow, 
a  soft,  warm  breath  seemed  to  have  blown.  He  appeared  to 
her,  suddenly,  under  a  new  aspect.  She  saw  the  misty  shadow 
which  the  passion  of  a  man's  heart  casts  before  it,  and  turned 
away  her  eyes  in  dread  of  a  deeper  revelation. 

As  she  took  leave  of  the  Waldos,  he  also  rose  and  gave  her 
his  hand.  The  tender  cloud  of  sadness  had  not  entirely  passed 
from  his  face,  and  she  avoided  meeting  his  gaze.  Whether  it 
was  the  memory  of  a  lost,  or  the  yearning  for  an  absent  love, 
which  had  thus  betrayed  itself,  she  felt  that  it  gave  him  the 
temporary  power  to  discern  something  of  the  emotion  which 
had  mastered  her.  Had  he  done  so,  she  never  could  have 
met  him  again.  To  this  man,  of  all  men,  she  would  continue 
to  assert  her  equality.  Whatever  weaknesses  others  might 
discover,  he  at  least  should  only  know. her  in  her  strength. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  rather  tamely  to  Woodbury,  and 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  847 

as  he  rode  down  the  valley  during  the  sweet  and  solemn 
coming-on  of  the  twilight,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sensation 
which  he  had  not  experienced  since  the  days  of  his  early  trials 
in  New  York.  He  well  remembered  the  melancholy  Sabbath 
evenings,  when  he  walked  along  the  deserted  North  River 
piers,  watching  the  purple  hills  of  Staten  Island  deepen  into 
gray  as  the  sunset  faded — when  all  that  he  saw,  the  quiet 
vessels,  the  cold  bosom  of  the  bay,  the  dull  red  houses  on  the 
shores  and  even  the  dusky  heaven  ^overhead,  was  hollow  and 
unreal — when  there  was  no  joy  in  the  Present  and  no  promise 
in  the  Future.  The  same  hopeless  chill  came  over  him  now. 
All  the  life  had  gone  out  of  the  landscape ;  its  colors  were 
cold  and  raw,  the  balmy  tonic  odor  of  the  golden-rods  and 
meadow  marigolds  seemed  only  designed  to  conceal  some 
rank  odor  of  decay,  and  the  white  front  of  Lakeside  greeted 
him  with  the  threat  of  a  prison  rather  than  the  welcome  of  a 
home. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  Bute  returned,  as  de- 
lighted to  get  back  as  if  he  had  made  a  long  journey.  The 
light  of  his  new  life  still  lay  upon  him  and  gave  its  human 
transfiguration  to  his  face.  Woodbury  studied  the  change,  un- 
consciously to  its  subject,  with  a  curiosity  which  he  had  never 
before  acknowledged  in  similar  cases.  He  saw  the  man's  su- 
preme content  in  the  healthy  clearness  of  his  eye,  in  the  light, 
elastic  movement  of  his  limbs,  and  in  the  lively  satisfaction  with 
which  he  projected  plans  of  labor,  in  which  he  was  to  perform 
the  principal  part.  He  had  taken  a  fresh  interest  in  life,  and 
was  all  courage  and  activity.  In  Carrie,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  trustful  reliance  she  had  exhibited  appeared  now  to  have 
assumed  the  form  of  a  willing  and  happy  submission.  She 
recognized  the  ascendency  of  sex,  in  her  husband,  without 
being  able  to  discern  its  nature.  Thus  Bute's  plain  common- 
sense  suddenly  took  the  form  of  rough  native  intellect  in  her 
eyes,  and  confessing  (to  herself,  only)  her  own  deficiency, 
her  affection  was  supported  by  the  pride  of  her  respect.  Her 
old  aunt  had  whispered  to  her,  before  they  left  Tiberius : 


348  HANNAH  THTJESTON: 

"  <7arrline,  you're  a  lucky  gal.  Y'r  husband's  a  proper  nice 
man  as  ever  I  see,  and  so  well  set-up,  too.  You'll  both  be 
well  to  do,  afore  you  die,  if  you  take  keer  o'  what  you've  got, 
and  lay  up  what  it  brings  in.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  wab 
able  to  send  your  boys  to  Collidge." 

This  suggestion  opened  a  new  field  for  her  ambition.  The 
thought  seemed  still  a  scarcely  permitted  liberty,  and  she  did 
not  dare  to  look  at  her  face  in  the  glass  when  it  passed 
through  her  mind  ;  but  the  mother's  instinct,  which  Inrks,  un- 
suspected, in  every  maiden's  breast,  boldly  asserted  its  ex- 
istence to  the  young  wife,  and  she  began  to  dream  of  the 
future  reformers  or  legislators  whom  it  might  be  her  for- 
tunate lot  to  cradle.  Her  nature,  as  we  have  already  more 
than  once  explained,  was  so  shallow  that  it  could  not  contain 
more  than  one  set  of  ideas  at  a  time.  The  acquired  affec- 
tations by  which  she  had  hitherto  been  swayed,  being  driven 
from  the  field,  her  new  faith  in  Bute  possessed  her  wholly, 
and  she  became  natural  by  the  easiest  transition  in  the  world. 
Characters  like  hers  rarely  have  justice  done  to  them.  Gen- 
erally, they  are  passed  over  as  too  trivial  for  serious  inspec- 
tion :  their  follies  and  vanities  are  so  evident  and  transparent, 
that  the  petit  verre  is  supposed  to  be  empty,  when  at  tho 
bottom  may  lie  as  potent  a  drop  of  the  honey  of  human  love, 
as  one  can  find  in  a  whole  huge  ox-horn  of  mead. 

Now  began  for  Woodbury  a  life  very  different  from  what 
he  had  anticipated.  Bute  took  possession  of  his  old  steward- 
ship with  the  joyous  alacrity  of  a  man  doubly  restored  to  the 
world,  and  Mrs.  Carrie  Wilson  fidgeted  about  from  morning 
until  night,  fearful  lest  some  neglected  duty  in  her  department 
might  be  seen.  The  careful  respect  which  Woodbury  ex- 
ercised towards  her  gave  her  both  courage  and  content  in  her 
new  position,  while  it  preserved  a  certain  distance  between 
them.  She  soon  learned,  not  only  to  understand  but  to  share 
Bute's  exalted  opinion  of  his  master.  In  this  respect,  Wood- 
bury's  natural  tact  was  unerring.  Without  their  knowledge, 
he  guided  those  who  lived  about  him  to  the  exact  places, 


A   STOKY    OP   AMERICAN  LIFE.  349 

which  he  desired  them  to  fill.  In  any  European  household 
such  matters  would  have  settled  themselves  without  trouble  ; 
but  in  America,  where  the  vote  of  the  hired  neutralizes  that 
of  the  hirer,  and  both  have  an  equal  chance  of  reaching  the 
Presidential  chair — where  the  cook  and  chambermaid  may 
happen  to  wear  more  costly  bonnets  than  their  mistress,  and 
to  have  a  livelier  interest  in  the  current  fashions,  it  requires 
no  little  skill  to  harmonize  the  opposite  features  of  absolute 
equality  and  actual  subjection.  •  Too  great  a  familiarity,  ac- 
cording to  the  old  proverb,  breeds  contempt ;  too  strict  an 
assertion  of  the  relative  positions,  breeds  rebellion. 

The  man  of  true  cultivation,  who  may  fraternize  at  will 
with  the  humblest  and  rudest  of  the  human  race,  reserves, 
nevertheless,  the  liberty  of  selecting  his  domestic  associates. 
Woodbury  insisted  on  retaining  his  independence  to  this  ex- 
tent, not  from  an  assumption  of  superiority,  but  from  a  resist- 
ance to  the  dictation  of  the  uncultivated  in  every  thing  that 
concerned  his  habits  of  life.  He  would  not  have  hesitated  to 
partake  of  a  meal  in  old  Melinda's  cottage,  but  it  was  always 
a  repugnant  sensation  to  him,  on  visiting  the  Merryfields, 
when  an  Irish  laborer  from  the  field  came  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
or  a  strapping  mulatto  woman,  sweating  from  the  kitchen  fire, 
to  take  their  places  at  the  tea-table.  Bute's  position  was 
above  that  of  a  common  laborer,  and  Woodbury,  whose  long 
Indian  life  had  not  accustomed  him  to  prefer  lonely  to  social 
meals,  was  glad  to  have  the  company  of  his  wedded  assistants 
at  breakfast  and  dinner,  and  this  became  the  ordinary  habit ; 
but  he  was  careful  to  preserve  a  margin  sufficient  for  his  own 
freedom  and  convenience.  Carrie,  though  making  occasional 
mistakes,  brought  so  much  good-will  to  the  work,  that  the 
housekeeping  went  on  smoothly  enough  to  a  bachelor's  eyes. 
If  Mrs.  Blake's  favorable  judgment  had  reference  to  this  aspect 
of  the  case,  she  was  sufficiently  near  the  truth,  but  in  another 
respect  she  certainly  made  a  great  mistake. 

It  was  some  days  before  Woodbury  would  confess  to  him- 
self the  disturbance  which  the  new  household,  though  so  con- 


850  HANNAH  THTJESTON: 

veniently  regulated,  occasioned  him.  The  sight  of  Bute's 
clear  morning  face,  the  stealthy  glance  of  delight  with  which 
he  followed  the  movements  of  his  beaming  little  wife,  as  she 
prepared  the  breakfast-table,  the  eager  and  absurd  manoeuvres 
which  she  perpetrated  to  meet  him  for  just  one  second  (long 
enough  for  the  purpose),  outside  the  kitchen-door  as  he  re- 
turned from  the  field — all  these  things  singularly  annoyed 
Woodbury.  The,  two  were  not  openly  demonstrative  in  their 
nuptial  content,  but  it  was  constantly  around  them  like  an 
atmosphere.  A  thousand  tokens,  so  minute  that  alone  they 
meant  nothing,  combined  to  express  the  eternal  joy  which 
man  possesses  in  woman,  and  woman  in  man.  It  pervaded 
the  mansion  of  Lakeside  from  top  to  bottom,  like  one  of  those 
powerful  scents  which  cling  to  the  very  walls  and  cannot  be 
washed  out.  When  he  endeavored  to  avoid  seeing  it  or  sur- 
mising its  existence,  in  one  way,  it  presented  itself  to  him  in 
another.  When,  as  it  sometimes  happened,  either  of  the 
parties  became  conscious  that  he  or  she  had  betrayed  a  little 
too  much  tenderness,  the  simulated  indifference,  the  unnatural 
gravity  which  followed,  made  the  bright  features  of  their  new 
world  all  the  more  painfully  distinct  by  the  visible  wall  which 
it  built  up,  temporarily,  between  him  and  them.  He  was 
isolated  in  a  way  which  left  him  no  power  of  protest.  They 
were  happy,  and  his  human  sympathy  forbade  him  to  resent  it; 
they  were  ignorant  and  uncultivated,  in  comparison  to  himself, 
and  his  pride  could  give  him  no  support ;  they  were  sincere, 
and  his  own  sincerity  of  character  was  called  upon  to  recog- 
nize' it ;  their  bond  was  sacred,  and  demanded  his  reverence. 
Why,  then,  should  he  be  disturbed  by  that  which  enlisted  all 
his  better  qualities,  and  peremptorily  checked  the  exercise  of 
the  opposite  ?  Why,  against  all  common-sense,  all  gentle  in- 
stincts, all  recognition  of  the  loftiest  human  duty,  should  he 
in  this  new  Paradise  of  Love,  be  the  envious  serpent  rather 
than  the  protecting  angel  ? 

The  feeling  was  clearly  there,  whatever  might  be  its  expla- 
nation.    There  were  times  when  he  sought  to  reason  it  away 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  351 

as  the  imaginary  jealousy  of  a  new  landed  proprietor,  who 
presents  to  himself  the  idea  of  ownership  in  every  pos- 
sible form  in  order  to  enjoy  it  the  more  thoroughly.  Lake- 
side was  his,  to  the  smallest  stone  inside  his  boundary  fence, 
and  the  mossiest  shingle  on  the  barn-roof;  but  the  old  house 
— the  vital  heart  of  the  property — now  belonged  more  to 
others  than  to  himself.  The  dead  had  signed  away  their  in- 
terest in  its  warmth  and  shelter,  but  it  was  haunted  in  every 
chamber  by  the  ghosts  of  the  living;  The  new-made  husband 
and  wife  filled  it  with  a  feeling  of  home,  in  which  he  had  no 
part.  They  had  usurped  his  right,  and  stolen  the  comfort 
which  ought  to  belong  to  him  alone.  It  was  their  house,  and 
he  the  tenant.  As  he  rode  down  the  valley,  in  the  evenings, 
and  from  the  bridge  over  Roaring  Brook  glanced  across  the 
meadows  to  the  sunny  knoll,  the  love,  which  was  not  his  own, 
looked  at  him  from  the  windows  glimmering  in  the  sunset  and 
seemed  to  say  :  "You  would  not  ask  me  to  be  your  guest,  but 
I  am  here  in  spite  of  you !" 

Woodbury,  however,  though  his  nature  was  softened  by  the 
charm  of  a  healthy  sentiment,  was  not  usually  imaginative.  He 
was  not  the  man  to  endure,  for  any  length  of  time,  a  mental  or 
moral  unrest,  without  attempting  to  solve  it.  His  natural  pow- 
ers of  perception,  his  correct  instincts,  his  calm  judgment,  and 
his  acquired  knowledge  of  life,  enabled  him  to  interpret  him- 
self as  well  as  others.  He  never  shrank  from  any  revelation 
which  his  own  heart  might  make  to  him.  If  a  wound  smarted, 
he  thrust  the  probe  to  the  bottom  with  a  steady  hand.  The 
pain  was  none  the  less,  afterwards,  perhaps,  but  he  could  esti- 
mate when  it  would  heal.  He  possessed,  moreover,  the  virtue, 
so  often  mistaken  for  egotism,  of  revering  in  himself  the  aspi- 
rations, the  sacrifices,  and  the  sanctities  which  he  revered  in 
other  men.  Understanding,  correctly,  his  nature  as  a  man, 
his  perceptions  were  not  easily  confused.  There  are  persons 
whose  moral  nature  is  permanently  unhinged  by  the  least 
license :  there  are  others  who  may  be  led,  by  circumstance, 
into  far  graver  aberrations,  and  then  swing  back,  without 


352  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

effort,  to  their  former  integrity.  He  belonged  tc  the  latter 
class. 

It  was  not  long,  therefore,  before  he  had  surveyed  the  whole 
ground  of  his  disturbance.  Sitting,  late  into  the  night,  in  his 
library,  he  would  lay  down  his  book  beside  the  joss-stick, 
which  smouldered  away  into  a  rod  of  white  ashes  in  its  boat, 
and  quietly  deliberate  upon  his  position.  He  recalled  every 
sensation  of  annoyance  or  impatience,  not  disguising  its  injus- 
tice or  concealing  from  himself  its  inherent  selfishness,  while 
on  the  other  hand  he  admitted  the  powerful  source  from  which 
it  sprang.  He  laid  no  particular  blame  to  his  nature,  from  the 
fact  that  it  obeyed  a  universal  law,  and  deceived  himself  by  no 
promise  of  resistance.  Half  the  distress  of  the  race  is  caused 
by  their  fighting  battles  which  can  never  be  decided.  Wood- 
bury's  knowledge  simply  taught  him  how  to  conceal  his  trouble, 
and  that  was  all  he  desired.  He  knew  that  the  ghost  which 
had  entered  Lakeside  must  stay  there  until  he  should  bring 
another  ghost  to  dislodge  it. 

Where  was  the  sweet  phantom  to  be  found  ?  If,  in  some 
impatient  moment,  he  almost  envied  Bute  the  possession  of  the 
attached,  confiding,  insipid  creature,  in  whom  the  former  was 
so  unspeakably  content,  his  good  sense  told  him,  the  next, 
that  the  mere  capacity  to  love  was  not  enough  for  the  needs 
of  a  life.  That  which  is  the  consecration  of  marriage  does  not 
alone  constitute  marriage.  Of  all  the  women  whom  he  knew, 
but  one  could  offer  him  the  true  reciprocal  gifts.  Towards 
her,  he  acknowledged  himself  to  be  drawn  by  an  interest  much 
stronger  than  that  of  intellect — an  interest  which  might  grow, 
if  he  allowed  it,  into  love,  The  more  he  saw  or  learned  of 
this  woman,  the  more  admirably  pure  and  noble  his  heart 
acknowledged  her  to  be.  He  had  come  to  look  upon  her  errors 
with  a  gentle  pity,  which  taught  him  to  avoid  assailing  them, 
whenever  the  assault  might  give  her  pain.  Was  the  hard, 
exacting  manner  in  which  she  claimed  delusive  rights — not 
indeed,  specially  for  herself,  but  for  ah1  her  sex — the  result  of 
her  position  as  a  champion  of  those  rights,  or  was  it  an  inte- 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  853 

gral  part  of  herself?  This  was  the  one  important  question 
which  it  behooved  him  to  solve.  To  what  extent  was  the  false 
nature  superimposed  upon  the  true  woman  beneath  it  ? 

Supposing,  even,  that  he  should  come  to  love  her,  and,  im- 
probable as  it  might  seem,  should  awaken  an  answering  love 
in  her  heart,  would  she  unite  her  fate,  unconditionally,  to  his  ? 
Would  she  not  demand,  in  advance,  security  for  some  unheard- 
of  domestic  liberty,  as  a  partial  compensation  for  the  legal 
rights  which  were  still  withheld  ?  £)ne  of  her  fellow-champi- 
onesses  had  recently  married,  and  had  insisted  on  retaining  her 
maiden  name.  He  had  read,  in  the  newspapers,  a  contract 
drawn  up  and  signed  by  the  two,  which  had  disgusted  him  by 
its  cold  business  character.  He  shuddered  as  the  idea  of 
Hannah  Thurston  presenting  a  similar  contract  for  his  signa- 
ture, crossed  his  mind.  "  No !"  he  cried,  starting  up :  "  it  is 
incredible !"  Nothing  in  all  his  intercourse  with  her  sug- 
gested such  a  suspicion.  Even  in  the  grave  dignity  of  her 
manner  she  was  entirely  woman.  The  occasional  harshness 
of  judgment  or  strength  of  prejudice  which  repelled  him,  were 
faults,  indeed,  but  faults  that  would  melt  away  in  the  light  of 
a  better  knowledge  of  herself.  She  was  at  present  in  a  posi- 
tion of  fancied  antagonism,  perhaps  not  wholly  by  her  own 
action.  The  few  men  who  agreed  with  her  gave  her  false  ideas 
of  their  own  sex :  the  others  whom  she  knew  misunderstood 
and  misrepresented  her.  She  thus  stood  alone,  bearing  the 
burden  of  aspirations,  which,  however  extravagant,  were  splen- 
didly earnest  and  unselfish. 

Mrs.  Blake's  words  came  back  to  Woodbury's  memory  and 
awakened  a  vague  confidence  in  his  own  hopes.  She  was  too 
clear-eyed  a  woman  to  be  easily  mistaken  in  regard  to  one  of 
her  sex.  Her  bantering  proposition  might  have  been  intended 
to  convey  a  serious  counsel.  "  A  strong  woman  can  only  be 
overcome  by  superior  strength."  But  how  should  this  strength 
(supposing  he  possessed  it)  be  exercised  ?  Should  *he  crush 
her  masculine  claims  under  a  weight  of  argument  ?  Impossi- 
ble: if  she  were  to  be  convinced  at  all,  it  must  be  by  the 


354  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

knowledge  that  comes  through  love.  There  was  another  form 
of  strength,  he  thought — a  conquering  magnetism  of  presence, 
a  force  of  longing  which  supplants  will,  a  warmth  of  passion 
which  disarms  resistance — but  such  strength,  again,  is  simply 
Love,  and  lie  must  love  before  he  could  exercise  it.  The  ques- 
tion, therefore,  was  at  last  narrowed  to  this  :  should  he  cherish 
the  interest  he  already  felt  until  it  grew  to  the  passion  he  pre- 
figured, and  leave  to  fate  its  return,  free  as  became  a  woman 
or  fettered  with  suspicious  provisions  ? 

This,  however,  was  a  question  not  so  easy  to  decide.  Were 
he  sure  of  exciting  a  reciprocal  interest,  the  venture,  he  felt, 
would  be  justified  to  his  own  heart;  but  nothing  in  her  man- 
ner led  him  to  suspect  that  she  more  than  tolerated  him — in 
distinction  to  her  former  hostile  attitude — and  there  is  no  man 
of  gentle  nature  but  shrinks  from  the  possibility  of  a  failure. 
"  Ah,"  said  he,  "  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  thought.  A  young 
man  would  not  stop  to  consider,  and  doubt,  and  weigh  proba- 
bilities. If  I  fail,  my  secret  is  in  sacred  keeping ;  if  I  win,  I 
must  win  every  thing.  Am  I  not  trying  to  keep  up  a  youthful 
faculty  of  self-illusion  which  is  lost  forever,  by  demanding  an 
ideal  perfection  in  woman  ?  No,  no !  I  must  cease  to  cheat 
myself:  I  must  not  demand  a  warmer  flame  than  I  can  give." 

Sometimes  he  attempted  to  thrust  the  subject  from  his 
mind.  The  deliberations  in  which  he  had  indulged  seemed  to 
him  cold,  material,  and  unworthy  the  sanction  of  love.  They 
had  the  effect,  however,  of  making  Hannah  Thurston's  image 
an  abiding  guest  in  his  thoughts,  and  the  very  familiarity  with 
his  own  doubts  rendered  them  less  formidable  than  at  first.  A 
life  crowned  with  the  bliss  he  passionately  desired,  might  re- 
ward the  trial.  If  it  failed,  his  future  could  not  be  more  bar- 
ren and  lonely  than  it  now  loomed  before  him :  how  barren, 
how  lonely,  every  sight  of  Bute's  face  constantly  resuggested. 

The  end  of  it  all  was  a  determination  to  seek  Hannah 
Thurston's  society — to  court  a  friendly  intimacy,  in  which  he 
should  not  allow  his  heart  to  be  compromised.  So  far  he 
might  go  with  safety  to  himself,  and  in  no  case,  according  to 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN  LIFE.  355 

his  views,  could  there  be  danger  to  her.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  widow,  which  had  been  kept  up  by  an  occasional 
brief  visit,  and  the  present  condition  of  the  latter' s  health,  gave 
him  all  the  opportunity  he  needed.  The  Catawba  grapes  were 
already  ripening  on  the  trellises  at  Lakeside,  and  he  would 
take  the  earliest  bunches  to  the  widow's  cottage. 

The  impression,  in  Ptolemy  society,  of  a  strong  antagonism 
between  himself  and  Hannah  Thurston,  was  very  general. 
Even  Mrs.  Waldo,  whose  opportunities  of  seeing  both  were 
best  of  all,  fancied  that  their  more  cordial  demeanor  towards 
each  other,  in  their  later  interviews,  was  only  a  tacitly  under- 
stood armistice.  Wood  bury  Avas  aware  of  this  impression,  and 
determined  not  to  contradict  it  for  the  present. 

Thus,  tormented  from  without  and  within,  impelled  by  an 
outcry  of  his  nature  that  would  not  be  silenced,  without  con- 
sciousness of  love,  he  took  the  first  step,  knowing  that  it  might 
lead  him  to  love  a  woman  whose  ideas  were  repugnant  to  all 
his  dreams  of  marriage  and  of  domestic  peace. 


356  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IN   WHICH   HANNAH   THURSTON,    ALSO,   HAS   HER   TROUBLES. 

WHEN  Woodbury  made  his  first  appearance  at  the  cottage, 
the  Widow  Thurston,  who  had  not  seen  him  since  his  return 
from  the  Lakes,  frankly  expressed  her  pleasure  in  his  society. 
It  was  one  of  her  favorable  days,  and  she  was  sitting  in  her 
well-cushioned  rocking-chair,  with  her  feet  upon  a  stool.  She 
had  grown  frightfully  thin  and  pale  during  the  summer,  but 
the  lines  of  physical  pain  had  almost  entirely  passed  away 
from  her  face.  Her  expression  denoted  great  weakness  and 
languor.  The  calm,  resigned  spirit  which  reigned  in  her  eyes 
was  only  troubled,  at  times,  when  they  rested  on  her  daughter. 
She  had  concealed  from  the  latter,  as  much  as  possible,  the 
swiftness  with  which  her  vital  force  was  diminishing,  lest  she 
should  increase  the  care  and  anxiety  which  was  beginning  to 
tell  upon  her  health.  She  knew  that  the  end  was  not  far  off: 
she  could  measure  its  approach,  and  she  acknowledged  in  her 
heart  how  welcome  it  would  be,  but  for  her  daughter's  sake. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  thee  to  come,  Friend  Woodbury,"  said 
she.  "  I've  been  expecting  thee  before." 

"  I  ought  to  have  come  sooner,"  said  he,  "  but  there  have 
been  changes  at  Lakeside." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  The  two  guests  that  will  not  be  kept  out 
have  come  to  thy  home,  as  they  come  to  the  homes  of  others. 
We  must  be  ready  for  either.  The  Lord  sends  them  both." 

"  Yes,"  said  Woodbury,  with  a  sigh,  "  but  one  of  them  is 
long  in  coming  to  me."  The  sweet  serenity  and  truth  of  the 
old  woman's  words  evoked  a  true  reply.  All  that  she  said 
came  from  a  heart  too  sincere  for  disguise,  and  spoke  to  his 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  357 

undisguised  self.  There  would  have  been  something  approach- 
in  g  to  sacrilege  in  an  equivocal  answer. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sad,  serious  inquiry  in  her  glance. 
"  I  see  thee's  not  hasty  to  open  thy  doors,"  she  said,  at 
last,  "  and  it's  well.  There's  always  a  blessing  in  store  for 
them  that  wait.  I  pray  that  it  may  come  to  thee  in  the  Lord's 
good  time." 

"  Amen  !"  he  exclaimed,  earnestly.  An  irresistible  impulse? 
the  next  moment,  led  him  to  look  a£  Hannah  Thurston.  She 
was  setting  in  order  the  plants  on  the  little  flower-stand  before 
the  window,  and  her  face  was  turned  away  from  him,  but  there 
was  an  indefinable  intentness  in  her  attitude  which  told  him 
that  no  word  had  escaped  her  ears. 

Presently  she  seated  herself,  and  took  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion, which  turned  mainly  upon  Bute  and  his  wife.  The  light 
from  the  south  window  fell  upon  her  face,  and  Woodbury 
noticed  that  it  had  grown  somewhat  thinner  and  wore  a  weary  ^ 
anxious  expression.  A  pale  violet  shade  had  settled  under  the 
dark-gray  eyes  and  the  long  lashes  drooped  their  fringes.  No 
latent  defiance  lurked  in  her  features :  her  manner  was  grave, 
almost  to  sadness,  and  in  her  voice  there  was  a  gentle  languor, 
like  that  which  follows  mental  exhaustion. 

In  all  their  previous  interviews,  Woodbury  had  never  been 
able  entirely  to  banish  from  his  mind  the  consciousness  of  her 
exceptional  position,  as  a  woman.  It  had  tinged,  without  his 
having  suspected  the  fact,  his  demeanor  towards  her.  Some- 
thing of  the  asserted  independence  of  man  to  man  had  modi- 
fied the  deferential  gentleness  of  man  to  woman.  She  had, 
perhaps,  felt  this  without  being  able  to  define  it,  for,  though 
he  had  extorted  her  profound  respect  he  had  awakened  in  her 
a  disposition  scarcely  warmer  than  she  gave  to  abstract  quali- 
ties. Now,  however,  she  presented  herself  to  him  under  a 
different  aspect.  He  forgot  her  masculine  aspirations,  seeing 
in  her  only  the  faithful,  anxious  daughter,  over  whom  the 
shadow  of  her  approaching  loss  deepened  from  day  to  day. 
The  former  chill  of  his  presence  did  not  return,  but  in  its  place 


858  HANNAH    THURSTON  : 

a  subtle  warmth  seemed  to  radiate  from  him.  Before,  his 
words  had  excited  her  intellect :  now,  they  addressed  them- 
selves to  her  feelings.  As  the  conversation  advanced,  she  re- 
covered her  usual  animation,  yet  still  preserved  the  purely 
feminine  character  which  he  had  addressed  in  her.  The  posi- 
tions which  they  had  previously  occupied  were  temporarily 
forgotten,  and  at  parting  each  vaguely  felt  the  existence  of 
unsuspected  qualities  in  the  other. 

During  this  first  visit,  Hannah  Thurston  indulged  without 
reserve,  in  the  satisfaction  which  it  gave  to  her.  She  always 
found  it  far  more  agreeable  to  like  than  to  dislike.  Wood- 
bury's  lack  of  that  enthusiasm  which  in  her  soul  was  an  ever 
burning  and  mounting  fire — his  cold,  dispassionate  power  of 
judgment — his  tolerance  of  what  she  considered  perverted 
habits  of  the  most  reprehensible  character,  and  his  indifference 
to  those  wants  and  wrongs  of  the  race  which  continually  appeal- 
ed to  the  Reformer's  aid,  had  at  first  given  her  the  impression 
that  the  basis  of  his  character  was  hard  and  selfish.  She  had 
since  modified  this  view,  granting  him  the  high  attributes  of 
truth  and  charity ;  she  had  witnessed  the  manifestation  of  his 
physical  and  moral  courage ;  but  his  individuality  still  pre- 
served a  cold,  statuesque  beauty.  His  mastery  over  himself, 
she  supposed,  extended  to  his  intellectual  passions  and  his 
affections.  He  would  only  be  swayed  by  them  so  far  as 
seemed  to  him  rational  and  convenient. 

His  words  to  her  mother  recalled  to  hei  mind,  she  knew 
not  why,  the  description  of  her  own  father's  death.  It  was 
possible  that  an  equal  capacity  for  passion  might  here  again  be 
hidden  under  a  cold,  immovable  manner.  She  had  sounded, 
tolerably  well,  the  natures  of  the  men  of  whom  she  had  seen 
most,  during  the  past  six  or  eight  years,  ard  had  found  that 
their  own  unreserved  protestations  of  feeling  were  the  measure 
of  their  capacity  to  feel.  There  was  no  necessity,  indeed,  to 
throw  a  plummet  into  their  streams,  for  they  had  egotistically 
set  up  their  own  Nilometers,  and  the  depth  of  the  current 
was  indicated  at  the  surface.  She  began  to  suspect,  now,  that 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  359 

she  had  been  mistaken  in  judging  Wood  bury  hy  the  same  test. 
The  thought,  welcome  as  it  was  from  a  broad,  humane  point 
of  view,  nevertheless  almost  involved  a  personal  humiliation. 
Her  strong  sense  of  justice  commanded  her  to  rectify  the  mis- 
take, while  her  recognition  of  it  weakened  her  faith  in  her- 
self. 

In  a  few  days  Woodbury  came  again,  and  as  before,  on  an 
errand  of  kindness  to  her  mother.  She  saw  that  his  visits  gave 
pleasure  to  the  latter,  and  for  that  reason  alone  it  was  her  duty 
to  desire  them,  but  on  this  occasion  she  detected  an  independ- 
ent pleasure  of  her  own  at  his  appearance.  A  certain  friendly 
familiarity  seemed  to  be  already  established  between  them. 
She  had  been  drawn  into  it,  she  scarcely  knew  how,  and  could 
not  now  withdraw,  yet  the  consciousness  of  it  began  to  agitate 
her  in  a  singular  way.  A  new  power  came  from  Woodbury's 
presence,  surrounded  and  assailed  her.  It  was  not  the  chill  of 
his  unexcitable  intellect,  stinging  her  into  a  half-indignant  re- 
sistance. It  was  a  warm,  seductive,  indefinable  magnetism, 
which  inspired  her  with  a  feeling  very  much  like  terror.  Its 
weight  lay  upon  her  for  hours  after  he  had  gone.  Whatever 
it  was,  its  source,  she  feared,  must  lie  in  herself;  he  seemed 
utterly  unconscious  of  any  design  to  produce  a  particular  im 
pression  upon  her.  His  manner  was  as  frank  and  natural  as 
ever  :  he  conversed  about  the  books  which  he  or  she  had  re- 
cently read,  or  on  subjects  of  general  interest,  addressing  much 
of  his  discourse  to  her  mother  rather  than  herself.  She  no- 
ticed, indeed,  that  he  made  no  reference  to  the  one  question 
on  which  they  differed  so  radically ;  but  a  little  reflection 
showed  her  that  he  had  in  no  former  case  commenced  the  dis- 
cussion, nor  had  he  ever  been  inclined  to  prolong  it  when 
started. 

Their  talk  turned  for  a  while  on  the  poets.  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton  had  but  slight  acquaintance  with  Tennyson,  who  was 
Woodbury's  favorite  among  living  English  authors,  and  he 
promised  to  bring  her  the  book.  He  repeated  the  stanzas  de- 
scriptive of  Jephtha's  Daughter,  in  the  "Dream  of  Fair 


360  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

Women,"  the  majestic  rhythm  and  superb  Hebrew  spirit  of 
which  not  only  charmed  her,  but  her  mother  also.  The  old 
woman  had  a  natural,  though  very  uncultivated  taste  for 
poetry.  She  enjoyed  nothing  which  was  purely  imaginative : 
verse,  for  her,  must  have  a  devotional,  or  at  least  an  ethical 
character.  In  rhythm,  also  her  appreciation  was  limited.  She 
delighted  most  in  the  stately  march  of  the  heroic  measure,  and 
next  to  that,  in  the  impetuous  rush  of  the  dactylic.  In  youth 
her  favorite  poems  had  been  the  "  Davidis"  of  Thomas  Elwood, 
Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man,"  and  the  lamenting  sing-song  of  Re- 
fine Weeks,  a  Nantucket  poet,  whom  history  has  forgotten. 
The  greater  part  of  these  works  she  knew  by  heart,  and  would 
often  repeat  in  a  monotonous  chant,  resembling  that  in  which 
she  had  formerly  preached.  Hannah,  however,  had  of  late 
years  somewhat  improved  her  mother's  taste  by  the  careful 
selection  of  poetry  of  a  better  character,  especially  Milton's 
"  Christmas  Hymn,"  and  the  works  of  Thomson  and  Cow- 
per. 

Woodbury  returned  the  very  next  day,  bringing  the  prom- 
ised volumes.  He  was  about  to  leave  immediately,  but  the 
widow  insisted  on  his  remaining. 

"  Do  sit  down  a  while,  won't  thee  ?"  said  she.  "  I  wish  thee 
would  read  me  something  else :  I  like  to  hear  thy  voice." 

Woodbury  could  not  refuse  to  comply.  He  sat  down, 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  first  volume,  and  finally  selected 
the  lovely  idyll  of  "  Dora,"  which  he  read  with  a  pure,  dis- 
tinct enunciation.  Hannah  Thurston,  busy  with  her  sewing  at 
a  little  stand  near  the  eastern  window,  listened  intently.  At 
the  close  she  turned  towards  him  with  softened  eyes,  and  ex- 
claimed :  "  How  simple !  how  beautiful !" 

"  I'm  greatly  obliged  to  thee,  Maxwell,"  said  the  widow, 
addressing  Woodbury  for  the  first  time  by  his  familiar  name. 
"It  is  always  pleasant,"  she  added,  smiling,  "to  an  old 
woman,  to  receive  a  kindness  from  a  young  man." 

"  But  it  ought  to  be  the  young  man's  pleasure,  as  it  is  his 
duty,  to  give  it,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  glad  that  you  like  my 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  361 

favorite  author.  I  have  brought  along  '  The  Princess,'  also, 
Miss  Thurston  :  you  have  certainly  heard  of  it  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  she,  "  I  saw  several  critical  notices  of  it 
when  it  was  first  published,  and  have  always  wished  to 
tread  it." 

"  It  gives  a  poetical  view  of  a  subject  we  have  sometimes 
discussed,"  he  added  playfully,  "  and  I  am  not  quite  sure  that 
you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  close.  It  should  not  be  read, 
however,  as  a  serious  argument  on  either  side.  Tennyson,  I 
suspect,  chose  the  subject  for  its  picturesque  effects,  rather 
than  from  any  intentional  moral  purpose.  I  confess  I  think  he 
is  right.  We  may  find  sermons  in  poems  as  we  find  them  in 
stones,  but  one  should  be  as  unconscious  of  the  fact  as  the 
other.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  poetry  which  the  author  de- 
signs, in  advance,  to  be  excessively  moral  or  pious,  is  more  or 
less  a  failure." 

"  Mr.  Woodbury  !  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  exclaimed 
Hannah  Thurston,  in  surprise. 

"Yes  ;  but  the  idea  is  not  original  with  me.  I  picked  it  up 
somewhere,  and  finding  it  true,  adopted  it  as  my  own.  There 
was  a  fanciful  illustration,  if  I  recollect  rightly — that  poetry  is 
the  blossom  of  Literature,  not  the  fruit ;  therefore  that  while 
it  suggests  the  fruit — while  its  very  odor  foretells  the  future 
flavor — it  must  be  content  to  be  a  blossom  and  nothing  more. 
The  meaning  was  this  :  that  a  moral  may  breathe  through  a 
poem  from  beginning  to  end,  but  must  not  be  pi  amply  ex- 
pressed. I  don't  know  the  laws  which  govern  the  minds  of 
poets,  but  I  know  when  they  give  me  most  pleasure.  Apply 
the  test  to  yourself:  I  shall  be  interested  to  know  the  result. 
Here,  for  instance,  is  '  The  Princess,'  which,  if  it  has  a  par- 
ticular moral,  has  one  which  you  may  possibly  reject,  but  I  am 
sure  your  enjoyment  of  pure  poetry  will  not  thereby  be 
lessened." 

"  I  shall  certainly  read  the  book  with  all  the  more  interest 
from  what  you  have  said,"  she  frankly  replied.  "  You  have 
very  much  more  literary  cultivation  than  I,  and  perhaps  it  is 
16 


362  HANNAH  THTJRSTON: 

presumptuous  in  me  to  dispute  your  opinion ;  but  my  nature 
leads  me  to  honor  an  earnest  feeling  for  truth  and  humanity, 
even  when  its  expression  is  not  in  accordance  with  literary 
laws." 

"  I  honor  such  a  feeling  also,  whenever  it  is  genuine,  how- 
ever expressed,"  Woodbury-  answered,  "but  I  make  a  dis- 
tinction between  the  feeling  and  the  expression.  In  other 
words,  the  cook  may  have  an  admirable  character,  and  yet  the 
roast  may  be  spoiled.  Pollok  is  considered  orthodox  and 
Byron  heretical,  but  I  am  sure  you  prefer  the  '  Hebrew  Melo- 
dies' to  the  "  Course  of  Time.' " 

"  Hannah,  I  guess  thee'd  better  read  the  book  first,"  said 
the  widow,  who  did  not  perceive  how  the  conversation  had 
drifted  away  from  its  subject.  "  It  is  all  the  better,  perhaps, 
if  our  friend  differs  a  little  from  thee.  When  we  agree  in 
every  thing,  we  don't  learn  much  from  one  another." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Friend  Thurston,"  said  Woodbury, 
rising.  "  I  should  be  mistaken  in  your  daughter  if  she  ac- 
cepted any  opinion  of  mine,  without  first  satisfying  her  own 
mind  of  its  truth.  Good-by  !" 

He  took  the  widow's  hand  with  a  courteous  respect,  and 
then  extended  his  own  to  Hannah.  Hers  he  held  gently  for  a  mo- 
ment while  he  said  :  *'  Remember,  I  shall  want  to  know  what 
impression  the  poem  makes  on  your  mind.  Will  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Thank  you.     I  will  tell  you,"  she  said. 

Strange  to'  say,  the  boldest  eulogiums  which  had  ever  reached 
Hannah  Thur-ston's  ears,  never  came  to  them  with  so  sweet  a 
welcome  as  Woodbury's  parting  compliment.  Nay,  it  was 
scarcely  a  compliment  at  all ;  it  was  a  simple  recognition  of 
that  earnest  seeking  for  truth  which  she  never  hesitated  to 
claim  for  herself.  Perhaps  it  was  his  supposed  hostile  attitude 
which  gave  the  words  their  value,  for  our  enemies  always  have 
us  at  a  disadvantage  when  they  begin  to  praise  us.  Politicians 
go  into  obscurity,  and  statesmen  fall  from  their  high  places, 
ruined,  not  by  the  assaults  but  by  the  flatteries  of  the  opposite 
party. 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  363 

She  could  no  longer  consider  Woodbury  in  the  light  of  an 
enemy.  His  presence,  his  words,  his  self-possessed  manner 
failed  to  excite  the  old  antagonism,  which  always  marred  het 
intellectual  pleasure  in  his  society.  One  by  one  the  discord- 
ant elements  in  her  own  nature  seemed  to  be  withdrawn,  or 
rather,  she  feared,  were  'benumbed  by  some  new  power  which 
he  was  beginning  to  manifest.  She  found,  with  dismay,  that 
instead  of  seeking,  as  formerly,  for  weapons  to  combat  his 
views,  her  mind  rather  inclined  to  the  discovery  of  reasons  for 
agreeing  with  them.  It  mattered  fittle,  perhaps,  which  course 
she  adopted,  so  long  as  the  result  was  Truth  ;  but  the  fact  that 
she  recognized  the  change  as  agreeable  gave  her  uneasiness. 
It  might  be  the  commencement  of  a  process  of  mental  sub- 
jection— the  first  meshes  of  a  net  of  crafty  reasoning,  designed 
to  ensnare  her  judgment  and  lead  her  away  from  the  high  aims 
she  prized.  Then,  on  the  other  hand,  she  reflected  that  such 
a  process  presupposed  intention  on  Woodbury's  part,  and 
how  could  she  reconcile  it  with  his  manly  honesty,  his  open 
integrity  of  character  ?  Thus,  the  more  enjoyment  his  visits 
gave  her  while  they  lasted,  the  greater  the  disturbance  which 
they  left  behind. 

That  new  and  indescribable  effluence  which  his  presence  gave 
forth  not  only  continued,  but  seemed  to  increase  in  power. 
Sometimes  it  affected  her  with  a  singular  mixture  of  fascination 
and  terror,  creating  a  physical  restlessness  which  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  subdue.  An  oppressive  weight  -lay  upon  her 
breast;  her  hands  burned,  and  the  nerves  in  every  limb  trem- 
bled with. a  strange  impulse  to  start  up  and  fly.  When,  at  night, 
in  the  seclusion  of  her  chamber,  she  recalled  this  condition,  her 
cheeks  grew  hot  with  angry  shame  of  herself,  and  she  clenched 
her  hands  with  the  determination  to  resist  the  return  of  such 
weakness.  But  even  as  she  did  so,  she  felt  that  her  power  of 
will  had  undergone  a  change.  An  insidious,  corrosive  doubt 
seemed  to  Tiave  crept  over  the  foundations  of  her  mental  life : 
the  forms  of  faith,  once  firm  and  fair  as  Ionic  pillars  under  the 
cloudless  heaven,  rocked  and  tottered  as  if  with  the  first  me 


364  HANNAH  THTTRSTON  : 

nacing  throes  of  an  earthquake.  When  she  recalled  her  past 
labors  for  the  sacred  cause  of  Woman,  a  mocking  demon  now 
and  then  whispered  to  her  that  even  in  good  there  were  the 
seeds  of  harm,  and  that  she  had  estimated,  in  vanity,  the  fruits 
of  her  ministry.  "  God  give  me  strength  !"  she  whispered — 
"  strength  to  conquer  doubt,  strength  to  keep  the  truth  for 
which  I  have  lived  and  which  must  soon  be  my  only  life, 
strength  to  rise  out  of  a  shameful  weakness  which  I  cannot 
understand !" 

Then,  ere  she  slept,  a  hope  to  which  she  desperately  clung, 
came  to  smooth  her  uneasy  pillow.  Her  own  future  life  must 
differ  from  her  present.  The  hour  was  not  far  off,  she  knew, 
when  her  quiet  years  in  the  cottage  must  come  to  an  end. 
She  could  not  shut  her  eyes  to  the  fact  that  her  mother's  time 
on  earth  was  short ;  and  short  as  it  was,  she  would  not  cloud 
it  by  anxiety  for  the  lonely  existence  beyond  it.  She  resolute- 
ly thrust  her  own  future  from  her  mind,  but  it  was  nevertheless 
always  present  in  a  vague,  hovering  form.  The  uncertainty  of 
her  fate,  she  now  thought, — the  dread  anticipation  of  coming 
sorrow — had  shaken  and  unnerved  her.  No  doubt  her  old, 
steadfast  self-reliance  and  self-confidence  would  assert  them- 
selves, after  the  period  of  trial  had  been  passed.  She  must  only 
have  patience,  for  the  doubts  which  she  could  not  now  answer 
would  then  surely  be  solved.  With  this  consolation  at  her 
heart — with  a  determination  to  possess  patience,  which  she 
found  much  more  easy  than  the  attempt  to  possess  herself  of 
will,  she  would  close  her  aching  eyes  and  court  the  refreshing 
oblivion  of  sleep. 

But  sleep  did  not  always  come  at  her  call.  That  idea  of 
the  sad,  solitary  future,  so  near  at  hand,  would  not  be  exor- 
cised. If  she  repelled  it,  it  came  back  again  in  company  with 
a  still  more  terrible  ghost  of  the  Past — her  early  but  now 
hopeless  dream  of  love.  When  she  tried  to  call  that  dream  a 
delusion,  all  the  forces  of  her  nature  gave  her  the  lie — all  the 
fibres  of  her  heart,  trembling  in  divinest  harmony  under  the 
ouch  of  the  tormenting  angel,  betrayed  her,  despairingly,  to 


A   STOKT   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  365 

her  own  self.  The  crown  of  independence  which  she  had  won 
bruised  her  brows ;  the  throne  which  she  claimed  was  carved 
of  ice ;  the  hands  of  her  sister  women,  toiling  in  the  same 
path,  were  grateful  in  their  help,  but  no  positive  pulse  of 
strength  throbbed  from  them  to  her  heart.  The  arm  which 
alone  could  stay  her  must  have  firmer  muscle  than  a  woman's ; 
it  must  uphold  as  well  as  clasp.  Why  did  Heaven  give  her 
the  dream  when  it  must  be  forever  vain  ?  Where  was  the 
man  at  the  same  time  tender  enough  to  love,  strong  enough  to 
protect  and  assist,  and  just  enough  to  acknowledge  the  equal 
rights  of  woman  ?  Alas !  nowhere  in  the  world.  She  could, 
not  figure  to  _herself  his  features ;  he  was  a  far-off  unattaina- 
ble idea,  only ;  but  a  secret  whisper,  deep  in  the  sacredest 
shrine  of  her  soul,  told  her  that  if  he  indeed  existed,  if  he 
should  find  his  way  to  her,  if  the  pillow  under  her  cheek  were 
his  breast,  if  his  arms  held  her  fast  in  the  happy  subjection 
of  love — but  no,  the  picture  was  not  to  be  endured.  It  was 
a  bliss,  more  terrible  in  its  hopelessness,  than  the  most  awful 
grief  in  its  certainty.  She  shuddered  and  clasped  her  hands 
crushingly  together,  as  with  the  strength  of  desperation,  she 
drove  it  from  her  bosom. 

Had  her  life  been  less  secluded,  the  traces  of  her  internal 
struggles  must  have  been  detected  by  others.  Her  mother, 
indeed,  noticed  an  unusual  restlessness  in  her  manner,  but  at- 
tributed it  to  care  for  her  own  condition.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  Mrs.  Waldo,  they  saw  but  few  persons  habitually. 
Miss  Sophia  Stevenson  or  even  Mrs.  Lemuel  Styles  occasionally 
called,  and  the  widow  always  made  use  of  these  occasions  to 
persuade  Hannah  to  restore  herself  by  a  walk  in  the  open  air. 
When  the  former  found  that  their  visits  were  thus  put  to  good 
service,  they  benevolently  agreed  to  come  regularly.  The 
relief  she  thus  obtained,  in  a  double  sense,  cheered  and  invig- 
orated Hannah  Thurston.  Her  favorite  walk,  out  the  Mulli- 
gansville  road,  to  the  meadows  of  East  Atauga  Creek,  took 
her  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  from  the  primly  fenced  lots  and 
stiff  houses  of  the  village  to  the  blossoming  banks  of  the 


366  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

winding  stream,  to  the  sweet  breath  of  the  scented  grass,  and 
the  tangled  thickets  of  alder,  over  which  bittersweet  and 
clematis  ran  riot  and  strove  for  the  monopoly  of  support. 
Here,  all  her  vague  mental  troubles  died  away  like  the  memory 
of  an  oppressive  dream  ;  she  drew  resignation  from  every  as- 
pect of  Nature,  and  confidence  in  herself  from  the  crowding 
associations  of  the  Past  which  the  landscape  inspired. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  of  course,  soon  became  aware  of  Woodbury's  fre- 
quent visits.  He  had  made  no  secret  of  them,  as  he  always  called 
at  the  Parsonage  at  the  same  time,  and  she  had  shared  equally 
in  the  ripening  vintage  of  Lakeside.  But  he  had  spoken  much 
more  of  the  Widow  Thurston  than  of  her  daughter,  and  the 
former  had  been  equally  free  in  expressing  her  pleasure  at  his 
visits,  so  that  Mrs.  Waldo  never  doubted  the  continuance  of 
the  old  antagonism  between  Hannah  and  Woodbury.  Their 
reciprocal  silence  in  relation  to  each  other  confirmed  her  in 
this  supposition.  She  was  sincerely  vexed  at  a  dislike  which 
seemed  not  only  unreasonable,  but  unnatural,  and  grew  so  im- 
patient at  the  delayed  conciliation  that  she  finally  spoke  her 
mind  on  the  subject. 

"Well,  Hannah,"  she  said,  one  day,  when  Woodbury's 
name  had  been  incidentally  mentioned,  "  I  really  think  it  is  time 
that  you  and  he  should  practise  a  little  charity  towards  each 
other.  I've  been  waiting,  and  waiting,  to  see  your  prejudices 
begin  to  wear  away,  now  that  you  know  him  better.  You 
can't  think  how  it  worries  me  that  two  of  my  best  friends, 
who  are  so  right  and  sensible  in  all  other  acts  of  their  lives, 
should  be  so  stubbornly  set  against  each  other." 

"  Prejudices  ?  Does  lie  think  I  am  stubbornly  set  against 
him  ?"  Hannah  Thurston  crie'd,  the  warm  color  mounting  into 
her  face. 

"Not  he !  He  says  nothing  about  you,  and  that's  the  worst 
of  it.  You  say  nothing  about  him,  either.  But  anybody  can 
see  it.  There,  I've  vexed  you,  and  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to 
have  opened  my  mouth,  but  I  love  you  so  dearly,  Hannah — I 
love  him,  too,  as  a  dear  friend — and  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me 


A    STOET    OP   AMERICAN  LIFE.  867 

see  v^hy  you  are  blind  to  the  truth  and  goodness  in  each  other 
thai  I  see  in  both  of  you." 

Hore  Mrs.  Waldo  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  cheek  as  a 
mother  might  have  done.  The  color  faded  from  Hannah 
Thurston's  face,  as  she  answered:  "I  know  you  are  a  dear, 
good  friend,  and  as  such  you  cannot  vex  me.  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  have  mistaken  Mr.  Woodbury's  feelings :  you 
certainly  have  mistaken  mine.  I  did  his  character,  at  first,  in- 
justice, I  will  confess.  Perhaps  I  may  have  had  a  prejudice 
against  him,  but  I  am  not  aware  ^that  I  have  ojie  now.  I 
honor  him  as  a  noble-minded,  just,  and  unselfish  man.  We 
have  different  views  of  life,  but  in  this  respect  he  has  taught 
me,  by  his  tolerance  towards  me,  to  be  at  least  equally  tolerant 
towards  him." 

"You  make  me  happy!"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  in  unfeigned 
delight ;  but  the  next  instant  she  added,  with  a  sigh:  "But,  in 
spite  of  all,  you  don't  seem  to  me  like  friends." 

This  explanation  added  another  trouble  to  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton's mind.  It  was  very  possible  that  Woodbury  suspected 
her  of  cherishing  an  unfriendly  prejudice  against  him.  She 
had  assuredly  given  him  cause  for  such  a  suspicion,  and  if  the 
one  woman  in  Ptolemy,  who,  after  her  mother,  knew  her  best, 
had  received  this  impression,  it  would  not  be  strange  if  he 
shared  it.  In  such  case,  what  gentle  consideration,  what  for- 
giving kindness  had  he  not  exhibited  towards  her  ?  What 
other  man  of  her  acquaintance  would  have  acted  with  the  same 
magnanimity?  Was  it  not  her  duty  to  undeceive  him — not 
by  words,  but  by  meeting  him  frankly  and  gratefully — by  ex- 
hibiting to  him,  in  some  indirect  way,  her  confidence  in  his 
nobility  of  character  ? 

Thus,  every  thing  conspired  to  make  him  the  centre  of  her 
thoughts,  and  the  more  she  struggled  to  regain  her  freedom, 
the  more  helplessly  she  entangled  herself  in  the  web  which  his 
presence  had  spun  around  her. 


368  HANNAH  THTJRSTON: 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN   WHICH   A    CRISIS   APPROACHES. 

ONE  cannot  play  with  fire  without  burning  one's  fingers. 
Woodbury  supposed  that  he  was  pursuing  an  experiment, 
which  might  at  any  moment  be  relinquished,  long  after  a  deep 
and  irresistible  interest  in  its  object  had  taken  full  possession 
of  him.  Seeing  Hannah  Thurston  only  as  a  daughter — con- 
versing with  her  only  as  a  woman — her  other  character  ceased 
to  be  habitually  present  to  his  mind.  After  a  few  visits,  the 
question  which  he  asked  himself  was  not :  "  Will  I  be  able  to 
love  her  ?"  but :  "  Will  I  be  able  to  make  her  love  me  ?"  Of 
his  own'  ability  to  answer  the  former  question  he  was  entirely 
satisfied,  though  he  steadily  denied  to  himself  the  present  ex- 
istence of  passion.  He  acknowledged  that  her  attraction  for 
him  had  greatly  strengthened— that  he  detected  a  new  pleasure 
in  her  society — that  she  was  not  unfemininely  cold  and  hard, 
as  he  had  feared,  but  at  least  gentle  and  tender :  yet,  with  all 
this  knowledge,  there  came  no  passionate,  perturbing  thrill  to 
his  heart,  such  as  once  had  heralded  the  approach  of  love.  She 
had  now  a  permanent  place  in  his  thoughts,  it  is  true :  he 
c  ould  scarcely  have  shut  her  out,  if  he  had  wished  :  and  all 
the  new  knowledge  which  he  had  acquired  prompted  him  to 
stake  his  rising  hopes  upon  one  courageous  throw,  and  trust 
the  future,  if  he  gained  it,  to  the  deeper  and  truer  develop- 
ment of  her  nature  which  would  follow. 

At  the  next  visit  which  he  paid  to  the  cottage  after  Mrs. 
Waldo's  half-reproachful  complaint,  the  friendly  warmth  with 
which  Hannah  Thurston  received  him  sent  a  delicious  throb 
of  sweetness  to  his  heart.  Poor  Hannah  !  In  her  anxiety  to 


A    STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  369 

be  just,  she  had  totally  forgotten  what  her  treatment  of  Seth 
Wattles,  from  a  similar  impulse,  had  brought  upon  her.  She 
only  saw,  in  WoodlWy's  face,  the  grateful  recognition  of  her 
manner  towards  him,  and  her  conscience  became  quiet  at  once. 
The  key-note  struck  at  greeting  gave  its  character  to  the  inter- 
view, which  Woodbury  prolonged  much  beyond  his  usual 
habit.  He  had  never  been  so  attractive,  but  at  the  same  time, 
his  presence  had  never  before  caused  her  such  vague  alarm. 
All  the  cold  indifference,  which  she  had  once  imagined  to  be 
his  predominant  characteristic,  had.  melted  like  a  snow-wreath 
in  the  sunshine :  a  soft,  warm,  pliant  grace  diffused  itself  over 
his  features  and  form,  and  a  happy  under-current  of  feeling 
made  itself  heard  in  his  lightest  words.  He  drew  her  genuine 
self  to  the  light,  before  she  suspected  how  much  she  had 
allowed  him  to  see  :  she,  who  had  resolved  that  he  should  only 
know  her  in  her  strength,  had  made  a  voluntary  confession  of 
her  weakness ! 

Hannah  Thurston  was  proud  as  she  was  pure,  and  this  weird 
and  dangerous  power  in  the  man,  wounded  as  well  as  dis- 
turbed her.  She  felt  sure  that  he  exercised  it  unconsciously, 
and  therefore  he  was  not  to  be  blamed ;  but  it  assailed  her  in- 
dividual freedom — her  coveted  independence  of  other  minds — 
none  the  less.  It  was  weakness  to  shrink  from  the  encounter: 
it  was  humiliation  to  acknowledge,  as  she  must,  that  her 
powers  of  resistance  diminished  with  each  attack. 

Woodbury  rode  home  that  evening  very  slowly.  For  the 
first  time  since  Bute's  marriage,  as  he  looked  across  the  mead- 
ows to  a  dusky  white  speck  that  glimmered  from  the  knoll  in 
the  darkening  twilight,  there  was  no  pang  at  his  heart.  "  I 
foresee,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  if  I  do  not  take  care,  I  shall 
love  this  girl  madly  and  passionately.  I  know  her  now  in  her 
true  tenderness  and  purity ;  I  see  what  a  wealth  of  woman 
hood  is  hidden  under  her  mistaken  aims.  But  is  she  not  too 
loftily  pure — too  ideal  in  her  aspirations — for  my  winning  ? 
Can  she  bear  the  knowledge  of  my  life  ?  I  cannot  spare  her 
the  test.  If  she  comes  to  me  at  last,  it  must  be  with  eveey 
16* 


370  HANNAH   THUBSTON  : 

veil  of  the  Past  lifted.  There  dare  be  no  mystery  between 
us — no  skeleton  in  our  cupboard.  If  she  were  less  true,  less 
noble — but  no,  there  can  be  no  real  sacrament  of  marriage, 
without  previous  confession.  I  am  laying  the  basis  of  relations 
that  stretch  beyond  this  life.  It  would  be  a  greater  wrong  to 
shrink,  for  her  sake,  than  for  my  own.  It  must  come  to  this, 
and  God  give  her  strength  of  heart  equal  to  her  strength  of 
mind!" 

Woodbury  felt  that  her  relation  to  him  had  changed,  and 
he  could  estimate,  very  nearly,  the  character  which  it  had  now 
assumed.  Of  her  struggles  with  herself — of  the  painful  im- 
pression which  his  visits  left  behind — he  had,  of  course,  not 
the  slightest  presentiment.  He  knew,  however,  that  no  sus- 
picion of  his  feelings  had  entered  her  breast,  and  he  had 
reasons  of  his  own  for  desiring  that  she  should  remain  inno- 
cent of  their  existence,  for  the  present.  His  plans,  here,  came 
to  an  end,  for  the  change  in  himself  interposed  an  anxiety 
which  obscured  his  thoughts.  He  had  reached  the  point  where 
all  calculation  fails,  and  where  the  strongest  man,  if  his  pas- 
sion be  genuine,  must  place  his  destiny  in  the  hands  of 
Chance. 

But  there  is,  fortunately,  a  special  chance  provided  for  cases 
of  this  kind.  All  the  moods  of  Nature,  all  the  little  accidents 
of  life,  become  the  allies  of  love.  When  the  lover,  looking 
back  from  his  post  of  assured  fortune  over  the  steps  by  which 
he  attained  it,  thinks :  "  Had  it  not  been  for  such  or  such  a 
circumstance,  I  might  have  wholly  missed  my  happiness,"  he 
does  not  recognize  that  all  the  powers  of  the  earth  and  air 
were  really  in  league  with  him — that  his  success  was  not  the 
miracle  he  supposed,  but  that  his  failure  would  have  been.  It 
is  well,  however,  that  this  delusion  should  come  to  silence  the 
voice  of  pride,  and  temper  his  heart  with  a  grateful  humility : 
for  him  it  is  necessary  that  "  fear  and  sorrow  fan  the  fire  of 

joy." 

Woodbury  had  no  sooner  intrusted  to  Chance  the  further 
development  of  his  fat?,  than  Chance  generously  requited  the 


A   STOEY    OF    AMERICAN  LIFE.  371 

trust.  It  was  certainly  a  wonderful  coincidence  that,  as  he 
walked  into  Ptolemy  on  a  golden  afternoon  in  late  September, 
quite  uncertain  whether  he  should  this  time  call  at  the  widow's 
cottage,  he  should  meet  Hannah  Thurs.ton  on  foot,  just  at  the 
junction  of  the  Anacreon  and  Mulligansville  highways.  It 
was  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson's  day  for  relieving  her,  and  she  had 
gone  out  for  her  accustomed  walk  up  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

As  Woodbury  lifted  his  hat  to  greet  her,  his  face  brightened 
with  a  pleasure  which  he  did  not  now  care  to  conceal.  There 
was  a  hearty,  confiding  warmth  in  .the  grasp  of  his  hand,  as  he 
stood  face  to  face,  looking  into  her  clear,  dark-gray  eyes  with 
an  expression  as  frank  and.  unembarrassed  as  a  boy's.  It  was 
this  transparent  warmth  and  frankness  which  swept  away  her 
cautious  resolves  at  a  touch.  In  spite  of  herself,  she  felt  that 
an  intimate  friendship  was  fast  growing  up  between  them,  and 
she  knew  not  why  the  consciousness  of  it  should  make  her  so 
uneasy.  There  was  surely  no  reproach  to  her  in  the  fact  that 
their  ideas  and  habits  were  so  different ;  there  was  none  of 
her  friends  with  whom  she  did  not  differ  on  points  more  or 
^ss  important.  The  current  setting  towards  her  was  pure 
and  crystal-clear,  yet  she  drew  back  from  it  as  from  the  rush 
of  a  dark  and  turbid  torrent. 

"  Well-met !"  cried  Woodbury,  with  a  familiar  playfulness. 
"  We  are  both  of  one  mind  to-day,  and  what  a  day  for  out-of- 
doors  !  I  am  glad  you  are  able  to  possess  a  part  of  it ;  your 
mother  is  better,  I  hope  ?"  * 

"  She  is  much  as  usual,  and  I  should  not  have  left  her,  but 
for  the  kindness  of  a  friend  who  comes  regularly  on  this  day 
of  the  week  to  take  my  place  for  an  hour  or  two." 

"  Have  you  this  relief  but  once  in  seven  days  ?" 

"  Oh,  no.  Mrs.  Styles  comes  on  Tuesdays,  and  those  two 
days,  I  find,  are  sufficient  for  my  needs.  Mrs.  Waldo  would 
relieve  me  every  afternoon  if  I  would  allow  her." 

"  If  you  are  half  as  little  inclined  for  lonely  walks  as  I  am," 
said  Woodbury,  "  you  will  not  refuse  my  companionship  to- 
day. I  see  you  are  going  out  the  eastern  road." 


372  HANNAH   THUKSTON  . 

"My  favorite  walk,"  she  answered,  "is  in  the  meadows 
yonder.  It  is  the  wildest  and  most  secluded  spot  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  village." 

"  Ah,  I  have  noticed,  from  the  road,  in  passing,  the  beauty 
of  those  elms  and  clumps  of  alder,  and  the  picturesque  curves 
of  the  creek.  I  should  like  to  make  a  nearer  acquaintance 
with  them.  Do  you  feel  sufficient  confidence  in  my  apprecia- 
tion of  Nature  to  perform  the  introduction?" 

"  Nature  is  not  exclusive,"  said  she,  adopting  his  gay  tone, 
"  and  if  she  were,  I  think  she  could  not  exclude  you,  who  have 
known  her  in  her  royal  moods,  from  so  simple  and  unpretend- 
ing a  landscape  as  this." 

"  The  comparison  is  good,"  he  answered,  walking  onward 
by  her  side,  "  but  you  have  drawn  the  wrong  inference.  I 
find  that  every  landscape  has  an  individual  character.  The 
royal  moods,  as  you  rightly  term  them,  may  impose  upon  us, 
like  human  royalty;  but  the  fact  that  you  have  been  presented 
at  Court  does  not  necessarily  cause  the  humblest  man  to  open 
his  heart  to  you.  What  is  it  to  yonder  alder  thickets  that  I 
have  looked  on  the  Himalayas  ?  What  does  East  Atauga  Creek 
care  for  the  fact  that  I  have  floated  on  the  Ganges  ?  If  the 
scene  has  a  soul  at  all,  it  will  recognize  every  one  of  your  foot- 
steps, and  turn  a  cold  shoulder  to  me,  if  I  come  with  any  such 
pretensions." 

Hannah  Thurston  laughed  at  the  easy  adroitness  with  which 
he  had  taken  up  and  appliefl  her  words.  It  was  a  light,  grace- 
ful play  of  intellect  to  which  she  was  unaccustomed — which, 
indeed,  a  year  previous,  would  have  struck  her  as  trivial  and 
unworthy  an  earnest  mind.  But  she  had  learned  something 
in  that  time.  Her  own  mind  was  no  longer  content  to  move 
in  its  former  rigid  channels;  she  acknowledged  the  cheerful 
brightness  which  a  sunbeam  of  fancy  can  diffuse  over  the  sober 
coloring  of  thought. 

He  let  down  the  movable  rails  from  the  panel  of  fence 
which  gave  admittance  into  the  meadow,  and  put  them  up 
again  after  they  had  entered.  The  turf  was  thick  and  dry, 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  373 

with  a  delightful  elasticity  which  lifted  the  feet  where  they 
pressed  it.  A  few  paces  brought  them  to  the  edge  of  the  belt 
of  thickets,  or  rather  islands  of  lofty  shrubbery,  between  which 
the  cattle  had  worn  paths,  and  which  here  and  there  enclosed 
little  peninsulas  of  grass  and  mint,  embraced  by  the  swift 
.stream.  The  tall  autumnal  flowers,  yellow  and  dusky  pur- 
ple, bloomed  on  all  sides,  and  bunches  of  the  lovely  fringed 
gentian,  blue  as  a  wave  of  the  Mediterranean,  were  set  among 
the  ripe  grass  like  sapphires  in  gold.  The  elms  which  at  in- 
tervals towered  over  this  picturesque  jungle,  had  grown  up 
since  the  valley-bottom  was  cleared,  and  no  neighboring  trees 
had  marred  the  superb  symmetry  of  their  limbs. 

Threading  the  winding  paths  to  the  brink  of  the  stream,  or 
back  again  to  the  open  meadow,  as  the  glimpses  through  the 
labyrinth  enticed  them,  they  slowly  wandered  away  from  the 
road.  Woodbury  was  not  ashamed  to  show  his  delight  in 
every  new  fragment  of  landscape  which  their  exploration  dis- 
closed, and  Miss  Thurston  was  thus  led  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  her  own  selected  gallery  of  pictures,  although  her  exclu- 
sive right  of  possession  to  them  thereby  passed  away  forever. 

Across  one  of  the  bare,  grassy  peninsulas  between  the  thicket 
and  the  stream  lay  a  huge  log  which  the  spring  freshet  had  stolen 
from  some  saw-mill  far  up  the  valley.  Beyond  it,  the  watery 
windings  ceased  for  a  hundred  yards  or  more,  opening  a  space 
for  the  hazy  hills  in  the  distance  to  show  their  purple  crests. 
Otherwise,  the  spot  was  wholly  secluded :  there  was  not  a 
dwelling  in  sight,  nor  even  a  fence,  to  recall  the  vicinity  of 
human  life.  This  was  the  enticing  limit  of  Hannah  Thurston's 
walks.  She  had  not  intended  to  go  so  far  to-day,  but  "a 
spirit  in  her  feet"  brought  her  to  the  place  before  she  was 
a  wave. 

"  Ah !"  cried  Woodbury,  as  they  emerged  from  the  tangled 
paths,  "  I  see  that  you  are  recognized  here.  Nature  has  inten- 
tionally placed  this  seat  for  you  at  the  very  spot  where  you 
'have  at  once  the  sight  of  the  hills  and  the  sound  of  the  water. 
How  musical  it  is,  just  at  this  point !  I  know  you  sing  here, 


374  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


sometimes  :    you  cannot   help   it,  with   such   an   accompani- 
ment," 

She  did  not  answer,  but  a  flitting  smile  betrayed  her  assent, 
They  took  their  seats  on  the  log,  as  if  by  a  silent  understand- 
ing. The  liquid  gossip  of  the  stream,  in  which  many  voices 
seemed  to  mingle  in  shades  of  tone  so  delicate  that  the  ear 
lost,  as  soon  as  it  caught  them,  sounded  lullingly  at  their  feet. 
Now  and  then  a  golden  leaf  dropped  from  the  overhanging 
elm,  and  quivered  slantwise  to  the  ground. 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  said  Woodbury,  finally  breaking 
the  peaceful,  entrancing  silence  —  "one  of  those  exquisite  songs 
in  '  The  Princess'  came  into  my  head.  Have  you  read  the 
book?  You  promised  to  tell  me  what  impression  it  made 
upon  you." 

"  Your  judgment  is  correct,  so  far,"  she  answered,  "  that  it 
is  poetry,  not  argument.  But  it  could  never  have  been  writ- 
ten by  one  who  believes  in  the  just  rights  of  woman.  In  the 
first  place,  the  Princess  has  a  very  faulty  view  of  those  rights, 
and  in  the  second  place  she  adopts  apian  to  secure  them  which 
is  entirely  impracticable.  If  the  book  had  been  written  for  a 
serious  purpose,  I  should  have  been  disappointed  ;  but,  taking 
it  for  what  it  is,  it  has  given  me  very  great  pleasure." 

'•'•  You  say  the  Princess's  plan  of  educating  her  sex  to  inde- 
pendence is  impracticable;  yet  —  pardon  me  if  I  have  misunder- 
stood you  —  you  seem  to  attribute  your  subjection  to  the  influ- 
ence of  man  —  an  influence  which  must  continue  to  exercise  the 
same  power  it  ever  has.  What  plan  would  you  substitute  for 
hers?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  hesitatingly;  "I  can  only 
hope  and  believe  that  the  Truth  must  finally  vindicate  itself. 
I  have  never  aimed  at  any  thing  more  than  to  assert  it."  . 

"Then  you  do  not  place  yourself  in  an  attitude  hostile  to 
man?"  he  asked. 

Hannah  Thurston  was  embarrassed  for  a  moment,  but  her 
frankness  conquered.  "  I  fear,  indeed,  that  I  have  done  so," 
she  said.  "  There  have  been  times  when  a  cruel  attack  has 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  3^5 

I 

driven  me  to  resistance.  You  can  scarcely  appreciate  our 
position,  Mr.  Woodbury.  We  could  bear  open  and  honorable 
hostility,  but  the  conventionalities  which  protect  us  against 
that  offer  us  no  defence  from  sneers  and  ridicule.  The  very 
term  applied  to  us — *  strong-minded' — implies  that  weak  minds 
are  our  natural  and  appropriate  inheritance.  It  is  in  human 
nature,  I  think,  to  forgive  honest  enmity  sooner  than  covert 
contempt." 

"  Would  it  satisfy  you  that  the  sincerity  and  unselfishness 
of  your  aims  are  honored,  though  4he  aims  themselves  are 
accounted  mistaken." 

•  "  It  is  all  we  could  ask  now !"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  grow- 
ing darker  and  brighter,  and  her  voice  thrilling  with  its  earnest 
sweetness.  "  But  who  would  give  us  that  much  ?" 

"/would,"  said  Woodbury,  quietly.  "Will  you  pardon 
:ne  for  saying  that  it  has  seemed  to  me,  until  recently,  as  if 
you  suspected  me  of  an  active  hostility  which  I  have  really 
never  felt.  My  opinions  are  the  result  of  my  experience  of 
men,  and  you  cannot  wonder  if  they  differ  from  yours.  I 
should  be  very  wrong  to  arrogate  to  myself  any  natural  supe- 
riority over  you.  I  think  there  never  can  be  any  difficulty  in 
determining  the  relative  rights  of  the  sexes,  when  they  truly 
understand  and  respect  each  other.  I  can  unite  with  you  in 
desiring  reciprocal  knowledge  and  reciprocal  honor.  If  that 
shall  be  attained,  will  you  trust  to  the  result  ?" 

"  Forgive  me :  I  did  misunderstand  you,"  she  said,  not 
answering  his  last  question. 

A  pause  ensued.  The  stream  gurgled  on,  and  the  purple 
hills  smiled  through  the  gaps  in  the  autumnal  foliage.  "  Do 
you  believe  that  Ida  was  happier  with  the  Prince,  supposing 
he  were  faithful  to  the  picture  he  drew,  than  if  she  had  re- 
mained at  the  head  of  her  college  ?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"  You  will  acquit  me  of  hostility  to  your  sex  when  I  say  'Yes.' 
The  Prince  promised  her  equality,  not  subjection.  It  is  sad 
that  the  noble  and  eloquent  close  of  the  poem  should  be  its 
most  imaginative  part." 


376  HANNAH  THTJESTON: 

-. 

The  tone  of  mournful  unbelief  in  her  voice  fired  Woodbury's 
blood.  His  heart  protested  against  her  words  and  demanded 
to  be  heard.  The  deepening  intimacy  of  their  talk  had  brought 
him  to  that  verge  of  frankness  where  the  sanctities  of  feeling, 
which  hide  themselves  from  the  gaze  of  the  world,  steal  up  to 
the  light  and  boldly  reveal  their  features.  "No,"  he  said,  warm- 
ly and  earnestly,  "  the  picture  is  not  imaginative.  Its  counter- 
part exists  in  the  heart  of  every  true  man.  There  can  be  no 
ideal  perfection  in  marriage  because  there  is  none  in  life  ;  but 
it  can,  and  should,  embody  the  tenderest  affection,  the  deepest 
trust,  the  divinest  charity,  and  the  purest  faith  which  human 
mature  is  capable  of  manifesting.  I,  for  one  man,  found  my  own 
dream  in  the  words  of  the  Prince.  I  have  not  remained  un- 
married from  a  selfish  idea  of  independence  or  from  a  want  of 
reverence  for  woman.  Because  I  hold  her  so  high,  because  I 
Beek  to  set  her  side  by  side  with  me  in  love  and  duty  and  con- 
fidence, I  cannot  profane  her  and  myself  by  an  imperfect  union. 
I  do  not  understand  love  without  the  most  absolute  mutual 
knowledge,  and  a  trust  so  complete  that  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion of  rights  on  either  side.  Where  that  is  given,  man  will 
never  withhold,  nor  will  woman  demand,  what  she  should  or 
should  not  possess.  That  is  my  dream  of  marriage,  and  it  is 
not  a  dream  too  high  for  attainment  in  this  life !" 

The  sight  of  Hannah  Thurston's  face  compelled  him  to 
pause.  She  was  deadly  pale,  and  trembled  visibly.  The  mo- 
ment he  ceased  speaking,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  after 
mechanically  plucking  some  twigs  of  the  berried  bittersweet, 
said  :  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  return." 

Woodbury  had  not  intended  to  say  so  much,  and  was  fear- 
ful, at  first,  that  his  impassioned  manner  had  suggested  the 
secret  he  still  determined  to  hide.  In  that  case,  she  evidently 
desired  to  escape  its  utterance,  but  .he  had  a  presentiment  that 
her  agitation  was  owing  to  a  different  cause.  Could  it  be 
that  he  had  awakened  the  memory  of  some  experience  of  love 
through  which  she  had  passed  ?  After  the  first  jealous  doubt 
which  this  thought  inspired,  it  presented  itself  to  his  mind  as 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  377 

a  relief.  THe  duty  which  pressed  upon  him  would  be  more 
lightly  performed ;  the  test  to  which  he  must  first  subject 
her  would  be  surer  of  success. 

As  they  threaded  the  embowered  paths  on  their  homeward 
way,  he  said  to  her,  gravely,  but  cheerfully  :  "  You  see,  Miss 
Thurston,  your  doubt  of  my  sex  has  forced  me  to  show  myself 
to  you  as  I  am,  in  one  respect.  But  I  will  not  regret  the  con- 
fession, unless  you  should  think  it  intrusive." 

"  Believe'me,"  she  answered,  "  I  know  how  to  value  it. 
You  have  made  me  ashamed  of  my  unbelief." 

"  And  you  have  confirmed  me  in  my  belief.  This  is  a  sub- 
ject which  neither  man  nor  woman  can  rightly  interpret, 
alone.  Why  should  we  never  speak  of  that  which  is  most 
vital  in  our  lives  ?  Here,  indeed,  we  are  governed  by  con- 
ventional ideas,  springing  from  a  want  of  truth  and  purity. 
But  a  man  is  always  ennobled  by  allowing  a  noble  woman  to 
look  into  his  heart.  Do  you  recollect  my  story  about  the 
help  Mrs.  Blake  gave  me,  under  awkward  circumstances, 
before  her  marriage  ?" 

"Perfectly.  It  was  that  story  which  made  me  wish  to 
know  her.  What  an  admirable  woman  she  is  !" 

"  Admirable,  indeed  !"  Woodbury  exclaimed.  "  That  was 
not  the  only,  nor  the  best  help  she  gave  me.  I  learned  from 
her  that  women,  when  they  are  capable  of  friendship — don't 
misunderstand  me,  I  should  say  the  same  thing  of  men — are 
the  most  devoted  friends  in  the  world.  She  is  the  only  con- 
soling figure  in  an  episode  of  my  life  which  had  a  great  influ- 
ence upon  my  fate.  The  story  is  long  since  at  an  end,  but  I 
should  like  to  tell  it  to  you,  -some  time." 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  do  so,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  another 
instance  of  Mrs.  Blake's  kindness." 

"  Not  only  that,"  Woodbury  continued,  "  but  still  another 
portion  of  my  history.  I  will  not  press  my  confidence  upon 
you,  but  I  shall  be  glad,  very  glad,  if  you  will  kindly  consent 
to  receive  it.  Some  things  in  my  life  suggest  questions  which 
I  have  tried  to  answer,  and  cannot.  I  must  have  a  woman's 


378  HANNAH  THTTBSTON: 

help.  I  know  you  are  all  truth  and  candor,  and' I  am  willing 
to  place  my  doubts  in  your  hands." 

He  spoke  earnestly  and  eagerly,  walking  by  her  side,  but 
with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  His  words  produced  in 
her  a  feeling  of  interest  and  curiosity,  under  which  lurked  a 
singular  reluctance.  She  was  still  unnerved  by  her  former 
agitation.  "  Why  should  you  place  such  confidence  in  me?" 
she  at  length  faltered.  "  You  have  other  friends  who  deserve 
it  better."  *  - 

"  We  cannot  always  explain  our  instincts,"  he  answered. 
"  I  must  tell  you,  and  you  alone.  If  I  am  to  have  help  in 
these  doubts,  it  is  you  who  can  give  it." 

His  words  seized  her  and  held  her  powerless.  Her  Quaker 
blood  still  acknowledged  the  authority  of  those  mysterious 
impulses  which  are  truer  than  reason,  because  they  come  from 
a  deeper  source.  He  spoke  with  a  conviction  from  which 
there  was  no  appeal,  and  the  words  of  refusal  vanished  from 
her  lips  and  from  her  heart. 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  she  said.  "  I  will  do  my  best.  I  hope  I 
may  be  able  to  help  you." 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  a  moment,  with  a  warm  pres- 
sure. "  God  bless  you  !"  was  all  he  said. 

They  silently  returned  up  the  road.  On  reaching  the  gate 
of  the  cottage,  he  took  leave  of  her,  saying  :  "  You  will  have 
my  story  to-morrow."  His  face  was  earnest  and  troubled ; 
it  denoted  the  presence  of  a  mystery,  the  character  of  which 
she  could  not  surmise. 

On  entering  the  cottage,  she  first  went  up-stairs  to  her  own 
room.  She  had  a  sensation  of  some  strange  expression  having 
come  over  her  face,  which  must  be  banished  from  it  before  she 
could  meet  her  mother.  She  must  have  five  minutes  alone  to 
think  upon  what  had  passed,  before  she  could  temporarily  put 
it  away  from  her  mind.  But  her  thoughts  were  an  indistinct 
chaos,  through  which  only  two  palpable  sensations  crossed  each 
other  as  they  moved  to  and  fro  — one  of  unreasoning  joy,  one 
of  equally  unreasoning  terror.  What  either  of  them  portend- 


A   STOBY   OF  AMERICAN  LIFE.  379 

ed  she  could  not  guess.  She  only  felt  that  there  was  no  stable 
point  to  which  she  could  cling,  but  the  very  base  of  her  being 
seemed  to  shift  as  her  thoughts  pierced  down  to  it. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  volume  of  "  The  Princess,"  which  lay 
upon  the  little  table  beside  her  bed.  She  took  it  up  with  a 
sudden  desire  to  read  again  the  closing  scene,  where  the 
heroine  lays  her  masculine  ambition  in  the  hands  of  love.  The 
book  opened  of  itself,  at  another  page :  the  first  words  ar- 
rested her  eye  and  she  read,  involuntarily  : 

"  Ask  me  no  more :  the  moon  may  draw  the  sea, 

The  cloud  may  stoop  from  heaven  and  take  the  shape, 
With  fold  on  fold,  of  mountain  and  of  cape, 
But  oh,  too  fond,  when  have  I  answered  thee  ? 

Ask  me  no  more 

"Ask  me  no  more:  what  answer  could  I  give? 
I  love  not  hollow  cheek  and  fading  eye, 
Yet  oh,  my  friend,  I  would  not  -have  thee  die : 
Ask  me  no  more,  lest  I  should  bid  thee  live ; 

Ask  me  no  more. 

"  Ask  me  no  more :  thy  fate  and  mine  are  sealed. 
I  strove  against  the  stream,  and  strove  in  vain : 
Let  the  great  river  bear  me  to  the  main  ! 
No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield — 

Ask  me  no  more." 

The  weird,  uncontrollable  power  which  had  taken  possession 
of  her  reached  its  climax.  She  threw  down  the  book  and 
burst  into  tears. 


THUKSTON: 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

MR.  WOODBURY'S  CONFESSION. 

TOWARDS  evening,  on  Saturday,  Bute  called  at  the  cottage, 
and  after  inquiring  concerning  the  widow's  condition,  and 
giving,  in  return,  a  most  enthusiastic  report  of  Carrie's  ac- 
complishments, he  produced  a  package,  with  the  remark : 

"  Here,  Miss  Hannah,  's  a  book  that  Mr.  Max.  give  me  for 
you.  He  says  you  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  send  any  of  'em 
back.  He  got  a  new  lot  from  New  York  yisterday." 

She  laid  it  aside  until  night.  It  was  late  before  her  mother 
slept  and  she  could  be  certain  of  an  hour,  alone,  and  secure 
from  interruption.  When  at  last  all  was  quiet  and  the  fire 
was  burning  low  on  the  hearth,  and  the  little  clock  ticked  like 
a  strong  pulse  of  health,  in  mockery  of  the  fading  life  in  the 
bosom  of  the  dear  invalid  in  the  next  room,  she  took  the  book 
in  her  hands.  She  turned  it  over  first  and  examined  the  paper 
wrapping,  as  if  that  might  suggest  the  nature  of  the  unknown 
contents;  then  slowly  untied  the  string  and  unfolded  the 
paper.  When  the  book  appeared,  she  first  looked  at  the  back  ; 
it  was  Ware's  "  Zenobia", — a  work  she  had  long  desired  to 
possess.  A  thick  letter  slipped  out  from  between  the  blank 
]eaves  and  fell  on  her  lap.  On  the  envelope  was  her  name 
only — "  Hannah  Thurston" — in  a  clear,  firm,  masculine  hand. 
She  laid  the  volume  aside,  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  letter 
through  from  beginning  to  end  : 

"DEAR  Miss  THURSTON: — I  know  how  much  I  have  asked 
of  you  in  begging  permission  to  write,  for  your  eye,  the  story 
which  follows.  Therefore  I  have  not  allowed  myself  to  stand 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  381 

shivering  on  the  brink  of  a  plunge  which  I  have  determined 
to  make,  or  to  postpone  it,  from  the  fear  that  the  venture  of 
confidence  which  I  now  send  out  will  come  to  shipwreck. 
Since  I  have  learned  to  appreciate  the  truth  and  nobleness  of 
your  nature — since  I  have  dared  to  hope  that  you  honor  me 
with  a  friendly  regard — most  of  all,  since  I  find  that  the  feel- 
ings which  I  recognize  as  the  most  intimate  and  sacred  portion 
of  myself  seek  expression  in  your  presence,  I  am  forced  to 
make  you  a  participant  in  the  knowledge  of  my  life.  Whether 
it  be  that  melancholy  knowledge  which  »a  tender  human  charity 
takes  under  its  protecting  wing  and  which  thenceforward 
sleeps  calmly  in  some  shadowy  corner  of  memory,  or  that  evil 
knowledge  which  torments  because  it  cannot  be  forgotten,  I 
am  not  able  to  foresee.  I  will  say  nothing,  in  advance,  to 
secure  a  single  feeling  of  sympathy  or  consideration  which 
your  own  nature  would  not  spontaneously  prompt  you  to  give. 
I  know  that  in  this  step  I  may  not  be  acting  the  part  of  a 
friend ;  but,  whatever  consequences  may  follow  it,  I  entreat 
you  to  believe  that  there  is  no  trouble  which  I  would  not 
voluntarily  take  upon  myself,  rather  than  inflict  upon  you  a 
moment's  unnecessary  pain. 

"  Have  you  ever,  in  some  impartial  scrutiny  of  self,  dis- 
covered to  what  extent  your  views  of  Woman,  and  your  aspi- 
rations in  her  behalf,  were  drawn  from  your  own  nature  ?  Are 
you  not  inclined  to  listen  to  your  own  voice  as  if  it  were  the 
collective  voice  of  your  sex  ?  If  so,  you  may  to  some  extent, 
accept  me  as  an  interpretation  of  Man.  I  am  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  the  general  average  of  men.  My  principal  ad- 
vantages are,  that  I  was  most  carefully  and  judiciously 
educated,  and  that  my  opportunities  of  knowing  mankind  have 
been  greater  than  is  usual.  A  conscientious  study  of  human 
nature  ought  to  be  the  basis  of  all  theories  of  reform.  I  think 
you  will  agree  with  me,  thus  far ;  and  therefore,  however  my 
present  confession  may  change  your  future  relations  towards 
me,  I  shall  have,  at  least,  the  partial  consolation  of  knowing 
that  I  have  added  something  to  your  knowledge. 


382  HAKNAH  THUKSTON: 


"Let  me  add  only  this,  before  I  commence  my  narrative  — 
that  it  treats  entirely  of  the  occurrences  of  my  life,  which  have 
brought  me  near  to  woman  through  my  emotions.  It  is  my 
experience  of  the  sex,  so  far  as  that  experience  has  taken  a 
deeper  hold  on  my  heart.  You  are  not  so  cold  and  unsympa- 
thetic as  to  repel  the  subject.  The  instinct  which  has  led  me 
to  choose  you  as  the  recipient  of  my  confidence  cannot  be 
false.  That  same  instinct  tells  me  that  I  shall  neither  withhold 
nor  seek  to  extenuate  whatever  directly  concerns  myself.  I 
dare  not  do  either. 

"  My  nature  was  once  not  so  calm  and  self-subdued  as  it 
may  seem  to  you  now.  As  a  youth  I  was  ardent,  impetuous, 
and  easily  controlled  by  my  feelings.  In  the  heart  of  almost 
any  boy,  from  seventeen  to  twenty,  there  is  a  train  laid,  and 
waiting  for  the  match.  As  I  approached  the  latter  age,  mine 
was  kindled  by  a,  girl  two  years  younger  than  myself,  the 
daughter  of  a  friend  of  my  father.  I  suppose  all  early  passions 
have  very  much  the  same  character  :  they  are  intense,  absorb- 
ing, unreasoning,  but  generally  shallow,  not  from  want  of  sin- 
cerity but  from  want  of  development.  The  mutual  attachment 
necessarily  showed  itself,  and  was  tacitly  permitted,  but  with- 
out any  express  engagement.  I  had  never  surprised  her  with 
any  sudden  declaration  of  love  :  our  relation  had  gradually 
grown  into  existence,  and  we  were  both  so  happy  therein  that 
we  did  not  need  to  question  and  discuss  our  feelings.  In  fact, 
we  were  rarely  sufficiently  alone  to  have  allowed  of  such  con- 
fidences; but  we  sought  each  other  in  society  or  in  our  re- 
spective family  circles  and  created  for  ourselves  a  half-privacy 
in  the  presence  of  others.  Nothing  seemed  more  certain  to 
either  of  us  than  that  our  fates  were  already  united,  for  we 
accepted  the  tolerance  of  our  attachment  as  a  sanction  of  its 
future  seal  upon  our  lives. 

"After  my  father's  failure  and  death,  however,  I  discovered, 
with  bitterness  of  heart,  that  it  was  not  alone  my  pecuniary 
prospects  which  had  changed,  Her  father,  a  shrewd,  hard 
man  of  business,  was  one  of  the  very  few  who  prospered  in  a 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  383 

season  of  general  ruin — who  perhaps  foresaw  the  crash  and 
prepared  himself  to  take  advantage  of  the  splendid  opportuni- 
ties which  it  offered.  His  wealth  was  doubled,  probably 
trebled,  in  a  year  :  he  won  advantages  which  compelled  the 
most  exclusive  circles  to  receive  him,  and  his  family  dropped 
their  old  associations  as  fast  as  they  familiarized  themselves 
with  the  new.  I  saw  this  change,  at  first,  without  the  slightest 
misgiving :  my  faith  in  human  nature  was  warm  and  fresh, 
and  the  satisfied  bliss  of  my  affections  disposed  me  to  judge 
all  men  kindly.  I  only  refrained  from  asking  the  father's  as- 
sistance in  my  straits,  from  a  feeling  of  delicacy,  not  because 
I  had  any  suspicion  that  it  would  not  be  given.  Little  by 
little,  however,  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  my  mind  that 
I  was  no  longer  a  welcome  visitor  at  the  house :  I  was  dropped 
from  the  list  of  guests  invited  to  dinners  and  entertainments, 
and  my  reception  became  cold  and  constrained.  From  the 
sadness  and  uneasiness  on  the  face  of  my  beloved,  I  saw  that 
she  was  suffering  for  my  sake,  and  on  questioning  her  she  did 
not  deny  that  she  had  been  urged  to  give  me  up.  She  assured 
me,  nevertheless,  of  her  own  constancy,  and  exhorted  me  to 
have  patience  until  my  prospects  should  improve. 

"  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Miss  Remington  (Mrs.  Blake, 
you  will  remember)  became  a  comforting  angel  to  both  of  us. 
She  had  remarked  our  attachment  from  its  first  stage,  and  with 
her  profound  scorn  of  the  pretensions  of  wealth,  she  deter- 
mined to  assist  the  course  of  true  love.  We  met,  as  if  by 
accident,  at  her  father's  house,  and  she  generally  contrived  that 
we  should  have  a  few  minutes  alone.  Thus,  several  months 
passed  away.  My  position  had  not  advanced,  because  I  had 
every  thing  to  learn  when  I  first  took  it,  but  I  began  to  have 
more  confidence  in  myself,  and  remained  cheerful  and  hopeful. 
I  was  not  disturbed  by  the  fact  that  my  beloved  sometimes 
failed  to  keep  her  appointments,  but  I  could  not  help  remark- 
ing, now,  that  when  she  did  appear,  she  seemed  ill  at  ease  and 
strove  to  make  the  interviews  as  short  as  possible. 

"  There  was  something  in  Miss  Remington's  manner,  also, 


384  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

which  I  could  not  understand.  I  missed  the  frank,  hearty 
sympathy  with  faithful  and  persecuted  love,  which  she  had 
given  me.  A  restless  anxiety,  pointing  to  one  thing  or 
another,  but  never  towards  the  truth,  took  possession  of  me. 
One  day  on  making  my  pre-arranged  call,  I  found  Miss  Rem- 
ington alone.  Her  face  was  grave  and  sad.  She  saw  my  look 
of  disappointment :  she  allowed  me  to  walk  impatiently  up  and 
down  the  room  three  or  four  times,  then  she  arose  and  seized 
me  by  both  hands.  '  Am  I  mistaken  in  you  ?'  she  asked  : 
'Are  you  yet  a  man?'  'I  am  trying  to  prove  it,'  I  answered. 
'Then,'  she  said,  'prove  it  to  me.  If  you  were  to  have  a 
tooth  drawn,  would  you  turn  back  a  dozen  times  from 
the  dentist's  door  and  bear  the  ache  a  day  longer,  or  would 
you  go  in  at  once  and  have  it  out?'  I  sat  down,  chilled  to 
the  heart,  and  said,  desperately  :  '  I  am  ready  for  the  opera- 
tion!' She  smiled,  but  there  were  tears  of  pity  in  her  eyes. 
She  told  me  as  kindly  and  tenderly  as  possible,  all  she  had 
learned :  that  the  girl  who  possessed  my  unquestioning  faith 
was  unworthy  of  the  gift:  that  the  splendors  of  the  new  circle 
into  which  she  had  ascended  had  become  indispensable  to  her : 
that  her  attachment  to  me  was  now  a  simple  embarrassment : 
that  her  beauty  had  attracted  wealthy  admirers,  one  of  whom, 
a  shallow-brained  egotist,  was  reported  to  be  especially  favored 
by  her,  and  that  any  hope  I  might  have  of  her  constancy 
to  me  must  be  uprooted  as  a  delusion. 

"  I  tried  to  reject  this  revelation,  but  the  evidence  was 
too  clear  to  be  discredited.  Nevertheless,  I  insisted  on  seeing 
the  girl  once  more,  and  Miss  Remington  brought  about  the 
interview.  I  was  too  deeply  disappointed  to  be  indignant : 
she  showed  a  restless  impatience  to  be  gone,  as  if  some  rem- 
nant of  conscience  still  spoke  in  her  heart.  I  told  her,  sadly, 
that  I  saw  she  was  changed.  If  her  attachment  for  me  had 
faded,  as  I  feared,  I  would  not  despotically  press  mine  upon 
her,  but  would  release  her  from  the  mockery  of  a  duty  which 
her  heart  no  longer  acknowledged.  I  expected  a  penitent 
confession  of  the  truth,  in  return,  and  was  therefore  wholly 


A   STOKY   OF   AMERICAN  LITE.  385 

unprepared  for  the  angry  reproaches  she  heaped  upon  me. 
*  Very  fine  !'  she  cried  ;  '  1  always  thought  there  was  no  sus- 
picion where  there  was  love!  I  am  to  be  accused  of  false- 
hood, from  a  jealous  whim.  It's  very  easy  for  you  to  give  up  an 
attachment  that  died  out  long  ago !'  But  I  will  not  repeat 
her  expressions  further.  I  should  never  have  comprehended 
them  without  Miss  Remington's  assistance.  She  was  vexed 
that  I  should  have  discovered  her  want  of  faith  and  given  her 
back  her  freedom  :  she  should  have  been  the  first  to  break  the 
bonds.  I  laughed,  in  bitterness  of 'heart,  at  her  words;  I 
could  give  her  no  other  answer. 

"  The  shock  my  affections  received  was  deeper  than  I  cared 
to  show.  It  was  renewed,  when,  three  months  afterwards, 
the  faithless  girl  married  the  rich  fool  whom  she  had  preferred 
to  me.  I  should  have  become  moody  and  cynical  but  for  the 
admirable  tact  with  which  Miss  Remington,  in  her  perfect 
friendship,  softened  the  blow.  Many  persons  suppose  that  a 
pure  and  exalted  relation  of  this  kind  cannot  exist  between 
man  and  woman,  without  growing  into  love — in  other  words, 
that  friendship  seeks  its  fulfilment  in  the  same  sex  and  love 
in  the  opposite.  I  do  not  agree  with  this  view.  The  thought 
of  loving  Julia  Remington  never  entered  my  mind,  and  she 
would  have  considered  me  as  wanting  in  sanity  if  I  had  inti- 
mated such  a  thing,  but  there  was  a  happy  and  perfect  confi- 
dence between  us,  which  was  my  chief  support  in  those  days 
of  misery. 

u  I  accepted,  eagerly,  the  proposition  to  become  the  Calcutta 
agent  of  the  mercantile  house  in  which  I  was  employed.  The 
shadow  of  my  disappointment  still  hung  over  me,  and  there 
were  now  but  few  associations  of  my  life  in  New  York  to 
make  the  parting  difficult.  I  went,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
new  scenes,  in  the  absorbing  duties  of  my  new  situation,  in 
the  more  masculine  strength  that  came  with  maturity,  I  grad- 
ually forgot  the  blow  which  had  been  struck — or,  if  I  did  not 
forget,  the  sight  of  the  scar  no  longer  recalled  the  pain  of  the 
wound.  Nevertheless,  it  had  made  me  suspicious  and  fearful. 
17 


386  HANNAH  THUBSTON: 

I  questioned  every  rising  inclination  of  my  heart,  and  sup- 
pressed the  whispers  of  incipient  affection,  determined  that 
no  woman  should  ever  again  deceive  me  as  the  first  had  done. 
The  years  glided  away,  one  by  one ;  I  had  slowly  acquired  the 
habit  of  self-control,  on  which  I  relied  as  a  natural  and  suffi- 
cient guard  for  my  heart,  and  the  longing  for  woman's  partner- 
ship in  life,  which  no  man  can  ever  wholly  suppress,  again  began 
to  make  itself  heard.  I  did  not  expect  a  recurrence  of  the 
passion  of  youth.  I  knew  that  I  had  changed,  and  that  love, 
therefore,  must  come  to  me  in  a  different  form.  I  remembered 
what  I  heard  at  home,  as  a  boy,  that  when  the  original  forest 
is  cleared  away,  a  new  forest  of  different  trees  is  developed 
from  the  naked  soil.  But  I  still  suspected  that  there  must  be 
a  family  likeness  in  the  growth,  and  that  I  should  recognize  its 
sprouting  germs. 

"  Between  five  and  six  years  ago,  it  was  necessary  that  I 
should  visit  Europe,  in  the  interest  of  the  house.  I  was  ab- 
sent from  India  nearly  a  year,  and  during  that  time  made  my 
first  acquaintance  with  Switzerland,  the  memory  of  which  is 
now  indissolubly  connected,  in  my  mind,  with  that  song  which 
I  have  heard  you  sing.  But  it  is  not  of  this  that  I  would 
speak.  I  find  myself  shrinking  from  the  new  revelation  which 
must  be  made.  The  story  is  not  one  of  guilt — not  even  of 
serious  blame,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  If  it  were  necessary, 
I  could  tell  it  to  any  man,  without  reluctance  for  my  own  sake. 
Men,  in  certain  respects,  have  broader  and  truer  views  of  life 
than  women ;  they  are  more  tender  in  their  judgment,  more 
guarded  in  their  condemnation.  I  am  not  justifying  myself, 
in  advance,  for  I  can  acquit  myself  of  any  intentional  wrong. 
I  only  feel  that  the  venture,  embodied  in  my  confession,  is  about 
to  be  sent  forth — either  to  pitying  gales  that  shall  waft  it  safely 
back  to  me,  or  to  storms  in  which  it  shall  go  down.  Recollect, 
dear  Miss  Thurston,  that  whatever  of  strength  I  may  possess 
you  have  seen.  I  am  now  about  to  show  you,  voluntarily,  my 
weakness. 

"  Among  the  passengers  on  board  the  steamer  by  which  I 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  387 

returned  to  India,  there  was  a  lady  who  had  been  recom- 
mended to  my  care  by  some  mutual  acquaintance  in  England. 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  physician  in  the  Company's  Service  who 
was  stationed  at  Benares,  and  who  had  sent  her  home  with 
her  children  a  year  and  a  half  before.  The  latter  were  left  in 
England,  while  she  returned  to  share  the  exile  of  her  husband 
until  he  should  be  entitled  to  a  pension.  She  was  a  thoroughly 
Tefined  and  cultivated  woman,  of  almost  my  own  age,  and 
shrank  from  contact  with  the  young  cubs  of  cadets  and  the  os- 
tentatious indigo-planters,  with  their'beer-drinking  wives,  who 
were  almost  the  only  other  passengers.  We  were  thus  thrown 
continually  together,  and  the  isolation  of  ocean-life  contributed 
to  hasten  our  intimacy.  Little  by  little  that  intimacy  grew 
deep,  tendeV,  and  powerful.  I  told  her  the  humiliating  story 
of  my  early  love  which  you  have  just  read,  and  she  described 
to  me,  with  tearful  reluctance,  the  unhappiness  of  her  married 
life.  Her  husband  had  gone  to  England  eight  years  before,  on 
leave  of  absence,  on  purpose  to  marry.  She  had  been  found 
to  answer  his  requirements,  and  ignorant  of  life  as  she  was  at 
that  time,  ignorant  of  her  own  heart,  had  been  hurried  into 
the  marriage  by  her  own  family.  Her  father  was  in  moderate 
circumstances,  and  he  had  many  daughters  to  provide  with 
husbands ;  this  was  too  good  a  chance  to  let  slip,  and,  as  it 
was  known  that  she  had  no  other  attachment,  her  hesitation 
was  peremptorily  overruled.  She  discovered,  too  late,  that 
there  was  not  only  no  point  of  sympathy  between  her  husband 
and  herself,  but  an  absolute  repulsion.  He  was  bold  and 
steady-handed  as  a  surgeon,  and  had  performed  some  daring 
operations  which  had  distinguished  him  in  his  profession  ;  but 
he  was  hard,  selfish,  and  tyrannical  in  his  domestic  relations, 
and  his  unfortunate  wife  could  only  look  forward  with  dread 
to  the  continual  companionship  which  was  her  doom. 

"  I  had  been  sure  of  recognizing  any  symptom  of  returning 
love  in  my  heart — but  1  was  mistaken.  It  took  the  form  of 
pity,  and  so  lulled  my  suspicions  to  sleep  that  my  power  of 
will  was  drugged  before  I  knew  it.  Her  own  heart  was  not 


388  HANNAH  THTTESTON: 

more  merciful  towards  her.  Poor  woman !  if  she  had  ever 
dreamed  of  love  the  dream  had  been  forgotten.  She  was  ig- 
norant of  the  fatal  spell  which  had  come  upon  us,  and  I  did 
not  detect  my  own  passion  until  its  reflection  was  thrown 
back  to  me  from  her  innocent  face.  When  I  had  discovered 
the  truth,  it  was  too  late— too  late,  I  mean,  for  her  happiness, 
not  too  late  for  the  honor  of  both  our  lives.  I  could  not  ex- 
plain to  her  a  danger  which  she  did  not  suspect,  nor  could  1% 
embitter,  by  an  enforced  coldness,  her  few  remaining  happy 
days  of  our  voyage.  With  a  horrible  fascination,  I  saw  her 
drawing  nearer  and  nearer  the  brink  of  knowledge,  and  my 
lips  were  sealed,  that  only  could  have  uttered  the  warning  cry. 

"  Again  I  was  called  upon  to  suffer,  but  in  a  way  I  had 
never  anticipated.  The  grief  of  betrayed  love  is  tame,  beside 
the  despair  of  forbidden  love.  This  new  experience  showed 
me  how  light  was  the  load  which  I  had  already  borne.  On 
the  one  side,  two  hearts  that  recognized  each  other  and  would 
have  been  faithful  to  the  end  of  time ;  on  the  other,  a  mon- 
strous bond,  which  had  only  the  sanction  of  human  laws.  I 
rebelled,  in  my  very  soul,  against  the  mockery  of  that  legal 
marriage,  which  is  the  basis  of  social  virtue,  forgetting  that 
Good  must  voluntarily  bind  itself  in  order  that  Evil  may  not 
go  free.  The  boundless  tenderness  towards  her  which  had 
suddenly  revealed  itself  must  be  stifled.  I  could  not  even 
press  her  hand  warmly,  lest  some  unguarded  pulse  should  be- 
tray the  secret ;  I  scarcely  dared  look  in  her  eyes,  lest  mine 
might  stab  her  with  the  sharpness  of  my  love  and  my  sorrow 
in  the  same  glance. 

"  It  was  all  in  vain.  Some  glance,  some  word,  or  touch  of 
hand,  on  either  side,  did  come,  and  the  thin  disguise  was 
torn  away  forever.  Then  we  spoke,  for  the  consolation  of 
speech  seemed  less  guilty  than  the  agony  of  silence.  In  the 
moonless  nights  of  the  Indian  Ocean  we  walked  the  deck  with 
hands  secretly  clasped,  with  silent  tears  on  our  cheeks,  with 
a  pang  in  our  souls  only  softened  by  the  knowledge  that  it 
was  mutual.  Neither  of  us,  I  think,  then  thought  of  disputing 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  389 

our  fate.  But  as  the  voyage  drew  near  its  end,  I  was  haunt- 
ed by  wild  fancies  of  escape.  I  could  not  subdue  my  nature 
to  forego  a  fulfilment  that  seemed  possible.  We  might  find 
a  refuge, I  thought,  in  Java,  or  Celebes,  or  some  of  the  Indian 
Isles,  and  once  beyond  the  reach  of  pursuit  what  was  the  rest 
of  the  world  to  us  ?  What  was  wealth,  or  name,  or  station  ? 
— they  were  hollow  sounds  to  us  now,  they  were  selfish  cheats, 
always.  In  the  perverted  logic  of  passion  all  was  clear  and 
fair. 

"  This  idea  so  grew  upon  me  that  I  was  base  enough  to 
propose  it  to  her — I  who  should  have  given  reverence  to  that 
ignorance  of  the  heart  which  made  her  love  doubly  sacred, 
strove  to  turn  it  into  the  instrument  of  her  ruin !  She  heard 
me,  in  fear,  not  in  indignation.  '  Do  not  tempt  me !'  she 
cried,  with  a  pitiful  supplication ;  '  think  of  my  children,  and 
help  me  to  stand  up  against  my  own  heart !'  Thank  God  I 
was  not  deaf  to  that  cry  of  weakness ;  I  was  armed  to  meet 
resistance,  but  I  was  powerless  against  her  own  despairing 
fear  of  surrender.  Thank  God,  I  overcame  the  relentless  selfish- 
ness of  my  sex !  She  took  from  my  lips,  that  night,  the  only 
kiss  I  ever  gave  her — the  kiss  of  repentance,  not  of  triumph. 
It  left  no  stain  on  the  purity  of  her  marriage  vow.  That  was 
our  true  parting  from  each  other.  There  were  still  two  days 
of  our  voyage  left,  but  we  looked  at  each  other  as  if  through 
the  bars  of  opposite  prisons,  with  a  double  wall  between.  Our 
renunciation  was  complete,  and  any  further  words  would  have 
been  an  unnecessary  pang.  We  had  a  melancholy  pleasure  in 
still  being  near  each  other,  in  walking  side  by  side,  in  the 
formal  touch  of  hands  that  dared  not  clasp  and  be  clasped. 
This  poor  consolation  soon  ceased.  The  husband  was  waiting 
for  her  at  Calcutta,  and  I  purposely  kept  my  state-room  when 
we  arrived,  in  order  that  I  might  not  see  him.  I  was  not  yet 
sure  of  myself. 

"She  went  to  Benares,  and  afterwanla  to  Meerut,  and  I 
never  saw  her  again.  In  a  little  more  thai?  a  year  I  heard  she 
was  dead  :  '  the  fever  of  the  country,*  they  sai^  I  was  glad 


390  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

of  it — death  was  better  for  her  than  her  life  had  been — now, 
at  least,  when  that  life  had  become  a  perpetual  infidelity  to  her 
heart.  Death  purified  the  memory  of  my  passion,  and  gave 
me,  perhaps,  a  sweeter  resignation  than  if  she  had  first  yielded 
to  my  madness.  Sad  and  hopeless  as  was  this  episode  of  my 
life,  it  contained  an  element  of  comfort,  and  restored  the 
balance  which  my  first  disappointment  had  destroyed.  My 
grief  for  her  was  gentle,  tender  and  consoling,  and  I  never 
turned  aside  from  its  approaches.  It  has  now  withdrawn  into 
the  past,  but  its  influence  still  remains,  in  this — that  the  desire 
for  that  fulfilment  of  passion,  of  which  life  has  thus  far  cheated 
me,  has  not  grown  cold  in  my  heart. 

"  There  are  some  natures  which  resemble  those  plants  that 
die  after  a  single  blossoming — natures  in  which  one  passion 
seems  to  exhaust  the  capacities  for  affection.  I  am  not  one  of 
them,  yet  I  know  that  I  possess  the  virtue  of  fidelity.  I  know 
that  I  still  wait  for  the  fortune  that  shall  enable  me  to  manifest 
it.  Do  you,  as  a  woman,  judge  me  unworthy  to  expect  that  for- 
tune ?  You  are  now  acquainted  with  my  history  ;  try  me  by 
the  sacred  instincts  of  your  own  nature,  and  according  to  them, 
pardon  or  condemn  me.  I  have  revealed  to  you  my  dream  of 
the  true  marriage  that  is  possible — a  dream  that  prevents  me 
from  stooping  to  a  union  not  hallowed  by  perfect  love  and 
faith.  Have  I  forfeited  the  right  to  indulge  this  dream  longer  ? 
Would  I  be  guilty  of  treason  towards  the  virgin  confidence  of 
some  noble  woman  whom  God  may  yet  send  me,  in  offering 
her  a  heart  which  is  not  fresh  in  its  knowledge,  though  fresh 
in  its  immortal  desires  ?  I  pray  you  to  answer  me  these  ques- 
tions ?  Do  not  blame  your  own  truth  and  nobility  of  nature, 
which  have  brought  you  this  task.  Blame,  if  you  please,  my 
selfishness  in  taking  advantage  of  them. 

"  I  have  now  told  you  all  I  meant  to  confess,  and  might  here 
close.  But  one  thought  occurs  to  me,  suggested  by  the  sud- 
den recollection  of  the  reform  to  which  you  have  devoted 
yourself.  I  fear  that  all  reformers  are  too  much  disposed  to 
measure  the  actions  and  outward  habits  of  the  human  race, 


A   STOKY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  091 

without  examining  the  hidden  causes  of  those  actions.  There 
is  some  basis  in  our  nature  for  all  general  customs,  both  of 
body  and  mind.  The  mutual  relation  of  man  and  woman,  in 
Society,  is  determined  not  by  a  conscious  exercise  of  tyranny 
on  the  one  side,  or  subjection  on  the  other.  Each  sex  has  its 
peculiar  mental  and  moral  laws,  the  differences  between  which 
are  perhaps  too  subtle  and  indefinable  to  be  distinctly  drawn, 
but  they  are  as  palpable  in  life  as  the  white  and  red  which 
neighboring  roses  draw  from  the  self-same  soil.  When  we 
have  differed  in  regard  to  Woman,  I  have  meant  to  speak  sin- 
cerely and  earnestly,  out  of  the  knowledge  gained  by  an  un- 
fortunate experience,  which,  nevertheless,  has  not  touched  the 
honor  and  reverence  in  which  I  hold  the  sex.  I  ask  you  to 
remember  this,  in  case  the  confidence  I  have  forced  upon  you 
should  hereafter  set  a  gulf  between  us. 

"  I  have  deprived  myself  of  the  right  to  make  any  request, 
but  whatever  your  judgment  may  be,  will  you  let  me  hear  it 
from  your  own  lips  ?  Will  you  allow  me  to  see  you  once 
more  ?  I  write  to  you  now,  not  because  I  should  shrink  from 
speaking  the  same  words,  but  because  a  history  like  mine  is 
not  always  easily  or  clearly  told,  and  I  wish  your  mind  to  be 
uninfluenced  by  the  sympathy  which  a  living  voice  might 
inspire. 

"  On  Tuesday  next  you  will  be  free  to  take  your  accustomed 
walk.  May  I  be  your  companion  again,  beside  the  stream  ? 
But,  no :  do  not  write  :  you  will  find  me  there  if  you  consent 
to  see  me.  If  you  do  not  come,  I  shall  expect  the  written  evi- 
dence, if  not  of  your  continued  respect,  at  least  of  your  forgive- 
ness. But,  in  any  case,  think  of  me  always  as  one  man  who, 
having  known  you,  will  never  cease  to  honor  Woman. 

"  Your  friend, 

"  MAXWELL  WOODBUKY." 


392  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IN   WHICH  THE   STRONG-MINDED    WOMAN    BECOMES   WEAK. 

IT  did  not  require  the  sound  of  a  living  voice  to  inspire 
Hannah  Thurston  with  sympathy  for  the  story  which  she  had 
just  read.  Never  before  had  any  man  so  freely  revealed  to 
her  the  sanctities  of  his  experience  of  women.  Completely 
absorbed  in  the  recital,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  first  strong 
impressions  of  alternate  indignation  and  pity,  without  reflect- 
ing upon  the  deeper  significance  of  the  letter.  Woodbury's 
second  episode  of  passion  at  first  conflicted  harshly  with  the 
pure  ideal  in  her  own  mind ;  the  shock  was  perhaps  greater 
to  her  than  the  confession  of  actual  guilt  would  have  been  to 
a  woman  better  acquainted  with  the  world.  Having  grown 
up  in  the  chaste  atmosphere  of  her  sect,  and  that  subdued  life 
of  the  emotions  which  the  seclusion  of  the  country  creates,  it 
startled  her  to  contemplate  a  love  forbidden  by  the  world,  yet 
justifying  itself  to  the  heart.  Nevertheless,  the  profound  pity 
which  came  upon  her  as  she  read  took  away  from  her  the 
power  of  condemnation.  The  wrong,  she  felt,  was  not  so  much 
in  the  love  which  had  unsuspectedly  mastered  both,  as  in  the 
impulse  to  indulge  rather  than  suppress  it ;  but  having  been 
suppressed — passion  having  been  purified  by  self-abnegation 
and  by  death,  she  could  not  withhold  a  tender  human  charity 
even  for  this  feature  of  the  confession. 

Woodbury's  questions,  however,  referred  to  the  future,  no 
less  than  to  the  past.  They  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  a  new 
love  visiting  his  heart.  The  desire  for  it,  he  confessed,  had  not 
grown  cold.  Deceit  and  fate  had  not  mastered,  in  him,  the 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  093 

immortal  yearning :  was  he  unworthy  to  receive  it  ?  "  Try 
me,"  he  had  written,  "  by  the  sacred  instincts  of  your  own 
nature,  and  according  to  them  pardon  or  condemn  me."  She 
had  already  pardoned.  Perhaps,  had  she  read  the  same  words 
coming  from  a  stranger,  or  as  an  incident  of  a  romance,  she 
would  have  paused  and  deliberated ;  her  natural  severity 
would  have  been  slow  to  relax ;  but  knowing  Woodbury  as 
she  had  latterly  learned  to  know  him,  in  his  frankness,  his 
manly  firmness  and  justice,  his  noble  consideration  for  herself 
her  heart  did  not  delay  the  answer,  to  his  questions.  He  had 
put  her  to  shame  by  voluntarily  revealing  his  weakness,  while 
she  had  determined  that  she  would  never  allow  him  to  dis- 
cover her  own. 

Little  by  little,  however,  after  it  became  clear  that  her  sym- 
pathy and  her  charity  were  justifiable,  the  deeper  questions 
which  lay  hidden  beneath  the  ostensible  purpose  of  his  letter 
crept  to  the  surface.  In  her  ignorance  of  the  coming  confes- 
sion, she  had  not  asked  herself,  in  advance,  why  it  should  have 
been  made;  she  supposed  it  would  be  its  own  explanation. 
The  reason  he  had  given  was  not  in  itself  suflicient,  but  pre- 
supposed something  more  important  which  he  had  not  ex- 
pressed. No  man  makes  such  a  confidence  from  a  mere  feeling 
of  curiosity.  Simultaneously  with  this  question  came  another 
— why  should  he  fancy  that  his  act  might  possibly  set  a  gulf 
between  them  ?  Was  it  simply  the  sensitiveness  of  a  nature 
which  would  feel  itself  profaned  by  having  its  secrets  misun- 
derstood ?  No  ;  a  heart  thus  sensitive  would  prefer  the  secu- 
rity of  silence.  Was  he  conscious  of  a  dawning  love,  and, 
doubtful  of  himself,  did  he  ask  for  a  woman's  truer  interpre- 
tation of  his  capacity  to  give  and  keep  faith  ?  "  It  is  cruel  in 
him  to  ask  me,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  does  he  think  my  heart 
is  insensible  as  marble,  that  I  should  probe  it  with  thoughts, 
every  one  of  which  inflicts  a  wound  ?  Why  does  he  not 
send  his  confession  at  once  to  her  ?  It  is  she  who  should  hear 
it,  not  I !  He  is  already  guilty  of  treason  to  her,  in  asking 
the  question  of  rue  /" 
17* 


394  HANNAH   THUESTON  I 

She  put  the  letter  suddenly  on  the  "table,  and  half  rose 
from  her  chair,  in  the  excitement  of  the  thought.  Then,  as  if 
struck  by  a  stunning  blow,  she  dropped  back  again.  Her  face 
grew  cold  and  deadly  pale,  and  her  arms  fell  nerveless  at  her 
sides.  Her  eyes  closed,  and  her  breath  came  in  long,  labored 
sighs.  After  a  few  minutes  she  sat  up,  placed  her  elbow  on 
the  table  and  rested  her  forehead  on  her  hand.  "  I  am  grow- 
ing idiotic,"  she  whispered,  with  an  attempt  to  smile ;  "  my 
brain  is  giving  way — it  is  only  a  woman's  brain." 

The  fire  had  long  been  extinct.  The  room  was  cold,  and  a 
chill  crept  over  her.  She  rose,  secured  the  letter  and  the 
book,  and  went  to  bed.  As  the  balmy  warmth  stole  over  her 
frame,  it  seemed  to  soften  and  thaw  the  painful  constriction 
of  her  heart,  and  she  wept  herself  into  a  sad  quiet.  "  Oh,  if 
it  should  be  so,"  she  said,  "I  must  henceforth  be  doubly 
wretched !  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  cannot  give  up  the  truths 
to  which  I  have  devoted  my  life,  and  they  now  stand  between 
my  heart  and  the  heart  of  the  noblest  man  I  have  ever  known. 
Yes :  my  pride  is  broken  at  last,  and  I  will  confess  to  myself 
how  much  I  honor  and  esteem  him — not  love — but  even  there 
I  am  no  longer  secure.  We  were  so  far  apart — how  could  I 
dream  of  danger  ?  But  I  recognize  it  now,  too  late  for  him 
— almost  too  late  for  me  !" 

Then,  again,  she  doubted  every  thing.  The  knowledge  had 
come  too  swiftly  and  suddenly  to  be  accepted  at  once.  He 
could  not  love  her ;  it  was  preposterous.  Until  a  few  days 
ago  he  had  thought  her  cold  and  severe  :  now,  he  acknowl- 
edged her  to  be  true,  and  his  letter  simply  appealed  to  that 
truth,  unsuspicious  of  the  secret  slumbering  in  her  heart.  He 
had  spoken  of  the  possibility  of  a  pure  and  exalted  friendship 
between  the  sexes,  such  as  already  existed  between  himself 
and  Mrs.  Blake :  perhaps  he  aimed  at  nothing  more,  in  this 
instance.  Somehow,  the  thought  was  not  so  consoling  as  it 
ought  properly  to  have  been,  and  the  next  moment  the  skilful 
explanation  which  she  had  built  up  tumbled  into  ruins. 

She  slept  but  little,  that  night,  and  all  the  next  day  went 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  895 

about  her  duties  as  if  in  a  dream.  She  knew  that  her  mother's 
eye  sometimes  rested  uneasily  on  her  pale  face,  and  the  con- 
fession of  her  trouble  more  than  once  rose  to  her  tongue,  but 
she  resolutely  determined  to  postpone  it  until  the  dreaded 
crisis  was  past.  She  would  not  agitate  the  invalid  with  her 
confused  apprehensions,  all  of  which,  moreover,  might  prove 
themselves  to  have  been  needless.  With  every  fresh  conflict 
in  her  mind  her  judgment  seemed  to  become  more  unsteady. 
The  thought  of  Woodbury's  love,  having  once  revealed  itself 
to  her,  would  not  be  banished,  and  -every  time  it  returned,  it 
seemed  to  bring  a  gentler  and  tenderer  feeling  for  him  into  her 
heart.  On  the  other  hand  her  dreams  of  a  career  devoted  to 
the  cause  of  Woman  ranged  themselves  before  her  mental 
vision,  in  an  attitude  of  desperate  resistance.  "  Now  is  the 
test 1"  they  seemed  to  say  :  "  vindicate  your  sex,  or  yield  to 
the  weakness  of  your  heart,  and  add  to  its  reproach  !" 

When  Monday  came,  it  brought  no  cessation  of  the  struggle, 
but  she  had  recovered  something  of  her  usual  self-control.  She 
had  put  aside,  temporarily,  the  consideration  of  her  doubts  ; 
the  deeper  she  penetrated  into  the  labyrinth,  the  more  she 
became  entangled,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  wait,  with  as 
much  calmness  as  she  could  command,  for  the  approaching 
solution.  The  forms  of  terror,  of  longing,  of  defence  and  of 
submission  continually  made  their  presence  felt  by  turns,  or 
chaotically  together,  but  the  only  distinct  sensation  she  per- 
mitted herself  to  acknowledge  was  this  :  that  if  her  forebodings 
were  true,  the  severest  trial  of  her  life  awaited  her.  Her 
pride  forbade  her  to  shrink  from  the  trial,  yet  every  hour 
that  brought  her  nearer  to  it  increased  her  dread  of  the  meet- 
ing. 

Her  mother's  strength  was  failing  rapidly,  and  on  this  day 
she  required  Hannah's  constant  attendance.  When,  at  last, 
the  latter  was  relieved  for  the  night,  her  fatigue,  combined 
with  the  wakeful  torment  of  the  two  preceding  nights,  com- 
pletely overpowered  her  and  she  slumbered  fast  and  heavily 
until  morning.  Her  first  waking  thought  was — "  The  day  is 


396  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

come,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  meet  him."  The  morning 
was  dull  and  windless,  and  as  she  looked  upon  the  valley  from 
her  window,  a  thick  blue  film  enveloped  the  distant  woods,  the 
dark  pines  and  brown  oaks  mingling  with  it  indistinctly,  while 
the  golden  and  orange  tints  of  the  maples  shone  through.  Her 
physical  mood  corresponded  with  the  day.  The  forces  of  her 
spirit  were  sluggish  and  apathetic,  and  she  felt  that  the  resist- 
ance which,  in  the  contingency  she  dreaded,  must  be  made, 
would  be  obstinately  passive,  rather  than  active  and  self-con- 
tained. A  sense  of  inexpressible  weariness  stole  over  her. 
Oh,  she  thought,  if.  she  only  could  be  spared  the  trial !  Yet, 
how  easily  it  might  be  avoided  !  She  needed  only  to  omit  her 
accustomed  walk :  she  could  write  to  him,  afterwards,  and 
honor  his  confidence  as  it  deserved.  But  an  instinct  told  her 
that  this  would  only  postpone  the  avowal,  not  avert  it.  If  she 
was  wrong,  she  had  nothing  to  fear  ;  if  she  was  right,  it  would 
be  cowardly,  and  unjust  to  him,  to  delay  the  answer  she  must 
give. 

Her  mother  had  slightly  rallied,  and  when  Mrs.  Styles 
arrived,  as  usual,  early  in  the  afternoon,  the  invalid  could  be 
safely  left  in  her  charge.  Nevertheless,  Hannah,  after  having 
put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  lingered  in  the  room,  with  a  last, 
anxious  hope  that  something  might  happen  which  would  give 
her  a  pretext  to  remain. 

"  Child,  isn't  thee  going  ?"  the  widow  finally  asked. 

a  Mother,  perhaps  I  had  better  stay  with  thee  this  after- 
noon ?"  was  the  hesitating  answer. 

"  Indeed,  thee  shall  not  do  any  such  thing !  Thee's  not  been 
thyself  for  the  last  two  days,  and  I  know  thee  always  comes 
back  from  thy  walks  fresher  and  better.  Bring  me  a  handful 
of  gentians,  won't  thee  ?" 

"Yes,  mother."  She  stooped  and  kissed  the  old  woman's 
forehead,  and  then  left  the  house. 

The  sky  was  still  heavy  and  gray,  and  there  was  an  oppres- 
sive warmth  in  the  air.  Crickets  chirped  loud  among  the  dying 
weeds  along  the  garden-palings,  and  crows  cawed  hoarsely 


A   STOET   OF   AMEEICAN   LIFE.  397 

from  the  tops  of  the  elms.  The  road  was  deserted,  as  far  as 
she  could  see,  but  the  sound  of  farmers  calling  to  their  oxen 
came  distinctly  across  the  valley  from  the  fields  on  the  eastern 
hill.  Nature  seemed  to  lie  benumbed,  in  drowsy  half-con- 
sciousness of  her  being,  as  if  under  some  narcotic  influence. 

She  walked  slowly  forward,  striving  to  subdue  the  anxious 
beating  of  her  heart.  At  the  junction  of  the  highways,  she 
stole  a  glance  down  the  Anacreon  road  :  nobody  was  to  be 
seen.  Down  the  other  :  a  farm-wagon  was  on  its  way  home 
from  Ptolemy — that  was  all.  To  the  first  throb  of  relief  suc- 
ceeded a  feeling  of  disappointment.  The  walk  through  the 
meadow-thickets  would  be  more  lonely  than  ever,  remember- 
ing the  last  time  she  had  seen  them.  As  she  looked  towards 
their  dark-green  mounds,  drifted  over  with  the  downy  tufts 
of  the  seeded  clematis,  a  figure  suddenly  emerged  from  the 
nearest  path  and  hastened  towards  her  across  the  meadow ! 

He  let  down  the  bars  for  her  entrance  and  stood  waiting 
for  her.  His  brown  eyes  shone  with  a  still,  happy  light,  and 
his  face  brightened  as  if  struck  by  a  wandering  sunbeam.  He 
looked  so  frank  and  kind— so  cheered  by  her  coming — so  un- 
embarrassed by  the  knowledge  of  the  confession  he  had  made, 
that  the  wild  beating  of  her  heart  was  partially  soothed,  and 
she  grew  calmer  in  his  presence. 

"  Thank  you !"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand,  both  in  greeting 
and  to  assist  her  over  the  fallen  rails.  When  he  had  put  them 
up,  and  regained  her  side,  he  spoke  againj  "  Shall  we  not  go 
on  to  that  lovely  nook  of  yours  beside  the  creek  ?  I  have 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  spot ;  I  have  recalled  it  to  my 
memory  a  thousand  times  since  then." 
"Yes,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  answered. 

As  they  threaded  the  tangled  paths,  he  spoke  cheerfully 
and  pleasantly,  drawing  her  into  talk  of  the  autumnal  plants, 
of  the  wayward  rapids  and  eddies  of  the  stream,  of  all  sights 
and  sounds  around  them.  A  balmy  quiet,  vrhich  she  mistook 
for  strength,  took  possession  of  her  heart.  She  reached  the 
secluded  nook,  with  a  feeling  of  timid  expectancy,  it  is  true, 


398  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

but  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  her  former  overpowering  dread. 
There  lay  the  log,  as  if  awaiting  them,  and  the  stream  gurgled 
contentedly  around  the  point,  and  the  hills  closed  loftily 
through  blue  vapor,  up  the  valley,  like  the  entrance  to  an 
Alpine  gorge. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  Woodbury  spoke.  "  Can  you 
answer  my  questions  ?" 

"  You  have  made  that  easy  for  me,"  she  replied,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  It  seems  to  me  rather  a  question  of  character  than 
of  experience.  A  man  naturally  false  and  inconstant  might 
have  the  same  history  to  relate,  but  I  am  sure  you  are  true. 
You  should  ask  those  questions  of  your  own  heart ;  where 
you  are  sure  of  giving  fidelity,  you  would  commit  no  treason 
in  bestowing — attachment." 

She  dared  not  utter  the  other  word  in  her  mind. 

"  I  was  not  mistaken  in  you !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  have 
the  one  quality  which  I  demand  of  every  man  or  woman  in 
whom  I  confide ;  you  distinguish  between  what  is  true  in 
human  nature  and  what  is  conventionally  true.  I  must  show 
myself  to  you  as  I  am,  though  the  knowledge  should  give  you 
pain.  The  absolution  of  the  sinner,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  is 
already  half-pronounced  in  his  confession." 

"Why  should  I  be  your  confessor?"  she  asked.  "The 
knowledge  of  yourself  which  you  have  confided  to  me,  thus 
far,  does  not  give  me  pain.  It  has  not  lowered  you  in  my 
esteem,  but  I  feel,  nevertheless,  that  your  confidence  is  a  gift 
which  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve,  and  which  I  ought  not 
to  accept  unless — unless  I  were  able  to  make  some  return.  If 
I  had  answered  your  questions  otherwise,  I  do  not  think  it 
would  have  convinced  you,  against  your  own  feelings.  With 
your  integrity  of  heart,  you  do  not  need  the  aid  of  a  woman 
whose  experience  of  life  is  so  much  more  limited  than  yours." 

She  spoke  very  slowly  and  deliberately,  and  the  sentences 
eeemed  to  come  with  an  effort.  Woodbury  saw  that  her 
clear  vision  had  pierced  through  his  flimsy  stratagem,  and 
guessed  that  she  must  necessarily  suspect  the  truth.  Still,  he 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  399 

drew  back  from  the  final  venture  upon  which  so  much  de- 
pended.    He  would  first  sound  the  depth  of  her  suspicions. 

"  No  man,"  he  said,  gently,  "  can  be  independent  of  woman's 
judgment,  without  loss  to  himself.  Her  purer  nature  is  a 
better  guide  to  him  than  his  own  clouded  instincts.  I  should 
not  have  attributed  a  different  answer  to  your  true  self,  but  to 
the  severe  ideas  of  duty  which  I  imagined  you  to  possess. 
You  were  right  to  suppose  that  I  had  already  answered  for 
myself,  but  can  you  not  understand  the  joy  of  hearing  it  thus 
confirmed  ?  Can  you  not  appreciate,  the  happy  knowledge 
that  one's  heart  has  not  been  opened  in  vain  ?" 

"  I  can  understand  it,  though  I  have  had  little  experience  of 
such  knowledge.  But  I  had  not  supposed  that  you  needed  it, 
Mr.  Woodbury — least  of  all  from  me.  We  seem  to  have  had 

so  little  in  common " 

"  Not  so !"  he  interrupted.  "  Opinions,  no  matter  how 
powerfully  they  may  operate  to  shape  our  lives,  are  external 
circumstances,  compared  with  the  deep,  original  springs  of 
character.  You  and  I  have  only  differed  on  the  outside,  and 
hence  we  first  clashed  when  we  came  in  contact ;  but  now  I 
recognize  in  you  a  nature  for  which  I  have  sought  long  and 
wearily.  I  seek  some  answering  recognition,  and  in  my  haste 
have  scarcely  given  you  time  to  examine  whether  any  features 
in  myself  have  grown  familiar  to  you.  I  see  now  that  I  was 
hasty :  I  should  have  waited  until  the  first  false  impression 
was  removed." 

The  memory  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  reproach  arose  in  Hannah 
Thurston's  mind.  "  Oh  no,  you  mistake  me !"  she  cried.  "  I 
am  no  longer  unjust  to  you.  But  you  surpass  me  in  magna- 
nimity as  you  have  already  done  in  justice.  You  surprised 
me  by  a  sacred  confidence  which  is  generally  accorded  only  to 
a  tried  friend.  I  had-  given  you  no  reason  to  suppose  that  I 
was  a  friend :  I  had  almost  made  myself  an  enemy." 

"Let  the  Past  be  past:  I  know  you  now.      My  confidence 
was  not  entirely  magnanimous.     It  was  a  test." 
"  And  I  have  stood  it  ?"  she  faltered. 


400  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

"  Not  yet,"  he  answered,  and  his  voice  trembled  into  a 
sweet  and  solemn  strain,  to  which .  every  nerve  in  her  body 
seemed  to  listen.  "  Not  yet !  You  must  hear  it  now.  I 
questioned  you,  after  you  knew  the  history  of  my  heart,  in 
order  tbat  you  might  decide  for  yourself  as  well  as  me.  Love 
purifies  itself  at  each  return.  My  unfortunate  experience  has 
not  prevented  me  from  loving  again,  and  with  a  purity  and  in- 
tensity deeper  than  that  of  my  early  days,  because  the  passion 
was  doubted  and  resisted  instead  of  being  received  in  my 
heart  as  a  coveted  guest.  I  am  beyond  the  delusions  of  youth, 
but  not  beyond  the  wants  of  manhood.  I  described  to  ypu, 
the  other  day,  on  this  spot,  my  dream  of  marriage.  It  was 
not  an  ideal  picture.  Hannah  Thurston,  I  thought  of  you  /" 

The  crisis  had  come,  and  she  was  not  prepared  to  meet  it. 
As  he  paused,  she  pressed  one  hand  upon  her  heart,  as  if  it 
might  be  controlled  by  physical  means,  and  moved  her  lips, 
but  no  sound  came  from  them. 

"  I  knew  you  could  not  have  anticipated  this,"  he  continued ; 
"I  should  have  allowed  you  time  to  test  me,  in  return,  but 
when  the  knowledge  of  your  womanly  purity  and  gentleness 
penetrated  me,  to  the  overthrow  of  all  antagonism  based  on 
shallow  impressions,  I  parted  with  judgment  and  will.  A 
power  stronger  than  myself  drove  me  onward  to  the  point  I 
have  now  reached — the  moment  of  time  which  must  decide 
your  fate  and  mine." 

She  turned  upon  him  with  a  wild,  desperate  energy  in  her 
face  and  words.  "  Why  did  you  come,"  she  cried,  "  to  drive 
me  to  madness  ?  Was  it  not  enough  to  undermine  the  foun- 
dations of  my  faith,  to  crush  me  with  the  cold,  destroying 
knowledge  you  have  gained  in  the  world?  My  life  was  fixed, 
before  I  knew  you;  I  was  sure  of  myself  and  satisfied  with 
the  work  that  was  before  me :  but  now  I  am  sure  of  nothing. 
You  have  assailed  me  until  you  have  discovered  my  weakness, 
and  you  cruelly  tear  down  every  prop  on  which  I  try  to  lean ! 
If  I  could  hate  you  I  should  regain  my  strength,  but  I  cannot 
do  that— you  know  I  cannot !" 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  401 

He  did  not  misinterpret  her  excitement,  which  yielded  more 
than  it  assailed.  "  N"o,  Hannah !"  he  said  tenderly,  "  I  would 
give  you  strength,  not  take  it  from  you — the  strength  of  my 
love,  and  sympathy,  and  encouragement.  I  know  how  these 
aims  have  taken  hold  upon  you :  they  are  built  upon  a  basis 
of  earnest  truth  which  I  recognize,  and  though  I  differ 
with  you  as  to  the  ends  to  be  attained,  we  may  both  enlighten 
each  other,  and  mutual  tenderness  £nd  mutual  respect  govern 
our  relations  in  this  as  in  all  else.  Do  not  think  that  I  would 
make  my  love  a  fetter.  I  can  trust  to  your  nature  working 
itself  into  harmony  with  mine.  If  I  find,  through  the  dearer 
knowledge  of  you,  that  I  have  misunderstood  Woman,  I  will 
atone  for  the  error ;  and  I  will  ask  nothing  of  you  but  that 
which  I  know  you  will  give — the  acknowledgment  of  the 
deeper  truth  that  is  developed  with  the  progress  of  life." 

She  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  "  Say  no  more,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  a  faint,  hollow  voice,  "  I  cannot  bear  it.  Oh,  what 
will  become  of  me  ?  You  are  noble  and  generous — I  was 
learning  to  look  up  to  you  and  to  accept  your  help,  and  now 
you  torture  me !" 

He  was  pitiless.  He  read  her  more  truly  than  she  read 
herself,  and  he  saw  that  the  struggle  must  now  be  fought  out 
to  its  end.  Her  agitation  gave  him  hope — it  was  the  surge 
and  swell  of  a  rising  tide  of  passion  which  she  resisted  with  the 
last  exercise  of  a  false  strength.  He  must  seem  more  cruel  still, 
though  the  conflict  in  her  heart  moved  him  to  infinite  pity. 
His  voice  assumed  a  new  power  as  he  spoke  again  : 

"  Hannah,"  he  said,  "  I  must  speak.  Remember  that  I  am 
pleading  for  all  the  remaining  years  of  my  life — and,  it  may 
be,  for  yours.  Here  is  no  question  of  subjection  ;  I  offer  you 
the  love  that  believeth  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth 
all  things.  It  is  not  for  me  to  look  irreverently  into  your 
maiden  heart :  but,  judging  you,  as  woman,  by  myself,  as  man, 
you  must  have  dreamed  of  a  moment  like  this.  You  must 
have  tried  to  imagine  the  face  of  the  unknown  beloved ;  you 
must  have  prefigured  the  holy  confidence  of  love  which  would 


402  HANNAH 

force  you  to  give  your  fate  into  his  hands ;  you  must  have 
drawn  the  blessed  life,  united  with  his,  the  community  of  in- 
terest, of  feeling,  and  of  faith,  the  protecting  support  on  his 
side,  the  consoling  tenderness  on  yours " 

She  seized  his  arm  with  the  hand  nearest  him,  and  grasped 
it  convulsively.  Her  head  dropped  towards  her  breast  and 
her  face  was  hidden  from  his  view.  He  gently  disengaged  the 
hand  and  held  it  in  his  oWn.  But  he  would  not  be  silent,  in 
obedience  to  her  dumb  signal :  he  steeled  his  heart  against  her 
pain,  and  went  on : 

"  You  have  tried  to  banish  this  dream  from  your  heart,  but 
you  have  tried  in  vain.  You  have  turned  away  from  the  con- 
templation of  the  lonely  future,  and  cried  aloud  for  its  fulfil- 
ment in  the  silence  of  your  soul.  By  day  and  by  night  it  has 
clung  to  you,  a  torment,  but  too  dear  and  beautiful  to  be  re- 
nounced  " 

He  paused.  She  did  not  withdraw  her  hand  from  his, 
but  she  was  sobbing  passionately.  Still,  her  head  was  turned 
away  from  him.  Her  strength  was  only  broken,  not  sub- 
dued. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "  that  nothing  in  our  lives  resembles 
the  picture  which  anticipates  its  coming.  I  am  not  the  man 
of  your  dreams.  Such  as  I  fancy  them  to  be,  no  man  on  the 
earth  would  be  worthy  to  represent  him.  But  I  can  give  you 
the  tenderness,  the  faith,  the  support  you  have  claimed  from 
him,  in  your  heart.  Do  not  reject  them  while  a  single  voice 
of  your  nature  tells  you  that  some  portion  of  your  ideal  union 
may  be  possible  in  us.  The  fate  of  two  lives  depends  on  your 
answer :  in  this  hour  trust  every  thing  to  the  true  voice  of  your 
heart.  You  say  you  cannot  hate  me  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  without  speaking.  She  was  still  sob- 
bing violently. 

"I  do  not  ask  you,  in  this  moment,  if  you  love  me.  I  can- 
not stake  my  future  on  a  venture  which  I  feel  to  be  perilous. 
But  I  will  ask  you  this  :  could  you  love  me  ?" 

She  made  no  sign :  her  hand  lay  in  his,  and  her  face  was 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN  LIFE.  403 

bent  towards  her  bosom.     He  took  her  other  hand,  and  hold- 
ing them  both,  whispered :  "  Hannah,  look  at  me." 

She  turned  her  head  slowly,  with  a  helpless  submission,  and 
lifted  her  face.  Her  cheeks  were  wet  with  tears,  and  her 
lovely  dark-gray  eyes,  dimmed  by  the  floods  that  had  gushed 
from  them  in  spite  of  herself,  met  his  gaze  imploringly.  The 
strong  soul  of  manhood  met  and  conquered  the  woman  in  that 
glance.  He  read  his  triumph,  but  veiled  his  own  consciousness 
of  it — curbed  his  triumphant  happiness,  lest  she  should  take 
alarm.  Softly  and  gently,  he  stole  one  arm  around  her  waist 
and  drew  her  to  his  breast.  The  violence  of  her  agitation 
gradually  ceased ;  then,  lifting  her  head,  she  withdrew  from 
his  clasp,  and  spoke,  very  softly  and  falteringly,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground  : 

"  Yes,  Maxwell,  it  is  as  I  have  feared.  I  will  not  say  that  I 
love  you  now,  for  my  heart  is  disturbed.  It  is  powerless  to 
act  for  me,  in  your  presence.  I  have  felt  and  struggled  against 
your  power,  but  you  have  conquered  me.  If  you  love  me,  pity 
me  also,  and  make  a  gentle  use  of  your  triumph.  Do  not 
bind  me  by  any  promise  at  present.  Be  satisfied  with  the 
knowledge  that  has  come  to  me — that  I  have  been  afraid  to 
love  you,  because  I  foresaw  how  easy  it  would  be.  Do  not 
ask  any  thing  more  of  me  now.  I  can  bear  no  more  to-day. 
My  strength  is  gone,  and  I  am  weak  as  a  child.  Be  mag- 
nanimous." 

He  drew  her  once  more  softly  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her 
lips.  There  was  no  resistance,  but  a  timid  answering  pressure. 
He  kissed  her  again,  with  the  passionate  clinging  sweetness  of 
a  heart  that  seals  an  eternal  claim.  She  tore  herself  loose  from 
him  and  cried  with  a  fiery  vehemence :  "  God  will  curse  you 
if  you  deceive  me  now  !  You  have  bound  me  to  think  of  you, 
day  and  night,  to  recall  your  looks  and  words,  to — oh,  Max- 
well, to  what  have  you  not  bound  my  heart !" 

"  I  would  bind  you  to  no  more  than  I  give,"  he  answered. 
"  I  ask  no  promise.  Let  us  simply  be  free  to  find  our  way  to 
the  full  knowledge  of  each  other.  When  you  can  trust  your 


404  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


life  to  me,  I  will  take  it  in  tender  and  reverent  keeping.  I 
trust  mine  to  you  now." 

She  did  not  venture  to  meet  his  eyes  again,  but  she  took  his 
outstretched  hand.  He  led  her  to  the  edge  of  the  peninsula, 
and  they  stood  thus,  side  by  side,  while  the  liquid,  tinkling 
semitones  of  the  water  made  a  contented  accompaniment  to 
the  holy  silence.  In  that  silence  the  hearts  of  both  were  busy. 
He  felt  that  though  his  nature  had  proved  the  stronger,  she 
was  not  yet  completely  won  :  she  was  like  a  bird  bewildered 
by  capture,  that  sits  tamely  for  a  moment,  afraid  to  try  its 
wings.  He  must  complete  by  gentleness  what  he  had  begun 
by  power.  She,  at  the  moment,  did  not  think  of  escape.  She 
only  felt  how  hopeless  would  be  the  attempt,  either  to  advance 
or  recede.  She  had  lost  the  strong  position  in  which  she  had 
so  long  been  intrenched,  yet  could  not  subdue  her  mind  to  the 
inevitable  surrender. 

lt  I  know  that  you  are  troubled,"  he  said  at  last,  and  the 
considerate  tenderness  of  his  voice  fell  like  a  balm  upon  her 
heart,  "  but  do  not  think  that  you  alone  have  yielded  to  a 
power  which  mocks  human  will.  I  spoke  truly,  when  I  said 
that  the  approach  of  love,  this  time,  had  been  met  with  doubt 
and  resistance  in  myself.  I  have  first  yielded,  and  thus  knowl- 
edge came  to  me  while  you  were  yet  ignorant.  From  that 
ignorance  the  consciousness  of  love  cannot,  perhaps,  be  born 
at  once.  But  I  feel  that  the  instinct  which  led  me  to  seek 
you,  has  not  been  false.  I  can  now  appreciate  something  of 
your  struggle,  which  is  so  much  the  more  powerful  than  my 
own  as  woman's  stake  in  marriage  is  greater  than  man's.  Let 
us  grant  to  each  other  an  equally  boundless  trust,  and  in  that 
pure  air  all  remaining  doubt,  or  jealousy,  or  fear  of  compro- 
mised rights,  will  die.  Can  you  grant  me  this  much,  Hannah  ft 
It  is  all  I  ask  now." 

She  had  no  strength  to  refuse.  She  trusted  his  manhood 
already  with  her  whole  heart,  though  foreseeing  what  such 
trust  implied.  "It  is  myself  only,  that  I  doubt,"  she  an- 
swered. 


A   STORY   OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  405 

"  Be  kind  to  me,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  releasing  her 
hand  from  his  clasp  and  half  turning  away  :  "  Consider  how  I 
have  failed — how  I  have  been  deceived  in  myself.  Another 
woman  would  have  been  justly  proud  and  happy  in  my  place, 
for  she  would  not  have  had  the  hopes  of  years  to  uproot,  nor 
have  had  to  answer  to  her  heart  the  accusation  of  disloyalty  to 
humanity." 

"  We  will  let  that  accusation  rest,"  he  soothed  her.  "  Do 
not  think  that  you  have  failed :  you  never  seemed  so  strong  to 
me  as  now.  There  can  be  no  question  of  conflicting  power 
between  two  equal  hearts  whom  love  unites  in  the  same  des- 
tiny. The  time  will  come  when  this  apparent  discord  will  ap- 
pear to  you  as  a  '  harmony  not  understood.'  But,  until  then, 
I  shall  never  say  a  word  to  you  which  shall  not  be  meant  to 
solve  doubt,  and  allay  fear,  and  strengthen  confidence." 

"  Let  me  go  back,  now,  to  my  mother,"  she  said.  "  Heaven 
pardon  me,  I  had  almost  forgotten  her.  She  wanted  me  to 
bring  her  some  gentians.  It  is  very  late  and  she  will  be 
alarmed." 

He  led  her  back  through  the  tangled,  briery  paths.  She 
took  his  offered  hand  with  a  mechanical  submission,  but  the 
touch  thrilled  her  through  and  through  with  a  sweetness  so 
new  and  piercing,  that  she  reproached  herself  at  each  return, 
as  if  the  sensation  were  forbidden.  Woodbury  gathered  for 
her  a  bunch  of  the  lovely  fringed  gentian,  with  the  short  au- 
tumn ferns,  and  the  downy,  fragrant  silver  of  the  life-everlast- 
ing. They  walked  side  by  side,  silently,  down  the  meadow, 
and  slowly  up  the  road  to  the  widow's  cottage. 

"  I  will  deliver  the  flowers  myself,"  said  he,  as  they  reached 
the  gate,  "  Besides,  is  it  not  best  that  your  mother  should 
know  of  what  has  passed  ?" 

She  could  not  deny  him.  In  the  next  moment  they  were  in 
the  little  sitting-room.  Mrs.  Styles  expected  company  to  tea, 
and  took  her  leave  as  soon  as  they  appeared. 

"Mother,  will  thee  see  Mr.   Woodbury?"  said  Hannah, 


406  HAisrNAH  THTJRSTON: 


opening  the  door  into  the  adjoining  room,  where  the  invalid 
sat,  comfortably  propped  up  in  her  bed. 

"Thee  knows  I  am  always  glad  to  see  him,"  came  the 
answer,  in  a  faint  voice. 

They  entered  together,  and  Woodbury  laid  the  flowers  on 
her  bed.  The  old  woman  looked  from  one  to  another  with  a 
glance  which,  by  a  sudden  clairvoyance,  saw  the  truth.  A 
new  light  came  over  her  face.  "  Maxwell  I"  she  cried  ; 
«  Hannah  !" 

"  Mother  !"  answered  the  daughter,  sinking  on  her  knees 
and  burying  her  face  in  the  bed-clothes. 

Tears  gushed  from  the  widow's  eyes  and  rolled  down  her 
hollow  cheeks.  "  I  see  how  it  is,"  she  said  ;  "  I  prayed  that 
it  might  happen.  The  Lord  blesses  me  once  more  before  I 
die.  Come  here,  Maxwell,  and  take  a  mother's  blessing.  I 
give  my  dear  daughter  freely  into  thy  hands." 

Hannah  heard  the  words.  She  felt  that  the  bond,  thus 
consecrated  by  the  blessing  of  her  dying  mother,  dared  not  be 
broken. 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  407 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

TN  WHICH   ALL   KETREAT   IS   CUT   OFF. 

"  COME  back  to-morrow,  Maxwell,",  the  Widow  Thurston 
had  said,  as  he  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her  ;  "  come  back, 
and  let  me  hear  what  thee  and  Hannah  have  to  say.  I  am  too 
weak  now  to  talk  any  more.  My  life  has  been  so  little  ac- 
quainted with  sudden  visitations  of  joy,  that  this  knowledge 
takes  hold  of  my  strength.  Thee  may  leave  me  too,  Hannah; 
I  think  I  could  sleep  a  little." 

The  latter  carefully  smoothed  and  arranged  the  pillows,  and 
left  the  invalid  to  repose.  Woodbury  was  waiting  for  her,  in 
the  door  leading  from  the  sitting-room  to  the  hall.  "  I  am 
going  home  now,"  he  said ;  "  can  you  give  me  a  word  of  hope 
and  comfort  on  the  way  ?  tell  me  that  you  trust  me !" 

"  Oh,  I  do,  I  do  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  Do  not  mistake  either 
my  agitation  or  my  silence.  I  believe  that  if  I  could  once  be 
in  harmony  with  myself,  what  I  have  heard  from  your  lips  to- 
day would  make  me  happy.  I  am  like  my  mother,"  she 
added,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  I  am  more  accustomed  to 
contempt  than  honor." 

He  led  her  into  the  hall  and  closed  the  door  behind 'them. 
He  put  one  arm  protectingly  around  her,  and  she  felt  herself 
supported  against  the  world.  "  Hereafter,  Hannah,"  he  whis- 
pered, "  no  one  can  strike  at  you  except  through  me.  Good- 
by  until  to-morrow !"  He  bent  his  head  towards  her  face, 
and  their  eyes  met.  His  beamed  with  a  softened  fire,  a  dewy 
tenderness  and  sweetness,  before  which  her  soul  shivered  and 
tingled  in  warm  throbs  of  bliss,  so  quick  and  sharp  as  to  touch 
the  verge  of  pain.  A  wonderful,  unknown  fascination  drew 


408  HANNAH  THTJESTON: 

her  lips  to  his.  She  felt  the  passionate  pressure ;  her  frame 
trembled ;  she  heard  the  door  open  and  close  as  in  a  dream, 
and  blindly  felt  her  way  to  the  staircase,  where  she  sank  upon 
the  lower  step  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

She  neither  thought,  nor  strove  to  think.  The  kiss  burned 
on  and  on,  and  every  throb  of  her  pulses  seemed  to  break  in 
starry  radiations  of  light  along  her  nerves.  Dissolving  rings 
of  color  and  splendor  formed  and  faded  under  her  closed  lids, 
and  the  blood  of  a  new  life  rustled  in  her  ears,  as  if  the  spirits 
of  newly-opened  flowers  were  whispering  in  the  summer  wind. 
She  was  lapped  in  a  spell  too  delicious  to  break — an  exquisite 
drunkenness  of  her  being,  beside  which  all  narcotics  would 
have  been  gross.  External  sounds  appealed  no  more  to  her 
senses  ;  the  present,  with  its  unfinished  struggles,  its  torturing 
doubts,  its  prophecies  of  coming  sorrow,  faded  far  away,  and 
Her  soul  lay  helpless  and  unresisting  in  the  arms  of  a  single 
sensation. 

All  at  once,  a  keen,  excited  voice,  close  at  hand,  called  her 
name.  It  summoned  her  to  herself  with  a  start  which  took 
away  her  breath. 

"My  dear  girl!  Good  gracious,  what's  the  matter!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Waldo,  who  stood  before  her.  "  I  saw  your 
mother  was  asleep,  and  I've  been  hunting  you  all  over  the 
house.  You  were  not  asleep,  too  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  was  trying  to  think." 

"  Bless  me,  haven't  you  thought  enough  yet  ?  I  should  say, 
from  the  look  of  your  face,  that  you  had  seen  a  ghost — no,  it 
must  have  been  an  angel !  Don't  look  so,  my  dear,  or  I  shall 
be  afraid  that  you  are  going  to  die." 

"  If  I  were  to  die,  it  would  make  all  things  clear,"  Hannah 
Thurston  answered,  with  a  strong  effort  of  self-control ;  "  but 
I  must  first  learn  to  live.  Do  not  be  alarmed  on  my  account. 
I  am  troubled  and  anxious  :  I  am  not  my  old  self." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Waldo,  tenderly. 
"  You  must  see  the  loss  that  is  coming,  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  us." 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   UFE.  409 

"  Yes,  I  know  that  my  mother  can  never  recover,  and  I  begin, 
already,  to  shrink  from  the  parting,  as  if  it  were  close  at  hand." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  melting  into  tears,  "  don't 
you  see  the  truth  yet?  Don't  you  see  that  the  parting  is 
close  at  hand  ?  I  was  afraid  you  did  not  know  ;  your  mother, 
I  was  sure,  would  not  tell  you ;  but,  putting  myself  in  your 
place,  I  did  not  think  it  right  that  you  should  be  kept  in  igno- 
rance. She  is  failing  very  fast." 

Hannah  Thurston  grew  very  pale.  Her  friend  led  her 
through  the  door,  and  out  into  the  little  garden  in  the  rear  of 
the  cottage.  Some  wind,  far  away  to  the  west,  had  lifted 
into  a  low  arch  the  gray  concave  of  cloud,  and  through  this 
arch  the  sinking  sun  poured  an  intense,  angry,  brassy  light 
over  the  tree-tops  and  along  the  hillside  fields.  They  leaned 
against  the  paling  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  looked 
silently  on  the  fiery  landscape.  Hannah  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  You  are  a  good  friend  to  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  thank  you  for 
the  knowledge.  I  knew  the  blow  must  come,  but  I  hoped 
it  might  be  delayed  a  little  longer.  I  must  bear  it  with  what 
strength  I  may." 

"  God  will  help  you,  Hannah,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  wiping 
away  her  tears.  "  He  measures  the  burden  for  the  back  that 
is  to  bear  it." 

Woodbury  walked  home  alone,  without  waiting,  as  usual, 
for  Bute  and  the  buggy.  He  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  in- 
haled long  draughts  of  the  fresher  evening  air,  with  the  relief 
of  a  man  who  has  performed  a  trying  task.  He  had  full  confi- 
dence in  the  completeness  of  his  victory,  yet  he  saw  how  na* 
rowly  he  had  escaped  defeat.  Had  his  mind  not  been  piv 
viously  occupied  with  this  woman — had  he  not  penetrated  to 
the  secret  of  her  nature — had  he  not  been  bold  enough  to  stake 
his  fortune  on  the  inherent  power  of  his  manhood,  he  must 
have  failed  to  break  down  those  ramparts  of  false  pride  which 
she  had  built  up  around  her1  heart.  A  man  of  shallower  knowl- 
edge would  have  endeavored  to  conquer  by  resistance — would 
have  been  stung  by  her  fierce  assertion  of  independence, 
18 


410  HANNAH  THFRSTON: 

utterly  mistaking  the  source  from  whence  it  sprang.  In  him 
it  simply  aroused  a  glorious  sense  of  power,  which  he  knew 
•  how  to  curb  to  the  needs  of  the  moment.  It  thrilled  him 
with  admiration,  like  the  magnificent  resistance  of  some  wild 
mare  of  the  steppes,  caught  in  the  hunter's  lasso.  It  betrayed 
an  unsuspected  capacity  for  passion  which  could  satisfy  the 
cravings  of  his  heart.  This  is  no  tame,  insipid,  feminine  crea- 
ture, he  thought ;  but  a  full-blown  woman,  splendid  in  her 
powers,  splendid  in  her  faults,  and  unapproachable  in  that 
truth  and  tenderness  which  would  yet  bring  her  nature  into 
harmony  with  his  own. 

A  part  of  the  power  he  had  drawn  from  her  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  into  his  own  being.  The  rapid  flow  of  his  blood 
lifted  his  feet  and  bore  him  with  winged  steps  down  the  valley. 
His  heart  overleaped  the  uncertainties  yet  to  be  solved,  and 
stood  already,  deep  in  the  domestic  future.  After  crossing 
Roaring  Brook,  he  left  the  road  and  struck  across  his  own 
meadows  and  fields  in  order  to  select  a  site,  at  once  convenient 
and  picturesque,  for  the  cottage  which  he  must  build  for  Bute. 
Of  course  there  could  not  be  two  households  at  Lakeside. 

The  next  day  made  good  the  threat  of  the  brassy  sunset 
It  rained  in  wild  and  driving  gusts,  and  the  sky  was  filled  with 
the  rifled  gold  of  the  forests.  Woodbury  paced  his  library 
impatiently,  unable  to  read  or  write,  and  finally  became  so 
restless  that  he  ordered  dinner  an  hour  before  his  accustomed 
time,  to  Mrs.  Carrie  Wilson's  great  dismay.  Bute  was  no  less 
astonished  when  Diamond  and  the  buggy  were  demanded. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Max. !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  you're  not  goin'  out  such 
a  day  as  this  ?  Can't  I  go  for  you  ?" 

"  I  have  pressing  business,  Bute,  that  nobody  can  attend  to 
but  myself.  Don't  let  your  tea  wait  for  me,  Mrs.  Wilson :  I 
may  be  late." 

Leaving  the  happy  pair-«-happy  in  the  rain  which  kept 
them  all  day  to  each  other — to  their  wonder  and  their  anxious 
surmises,  Woodbury  drove  through  the  wind,  and  rain,  and 
splashing  mud,  to  the  Widow  Thur.ston's  cottage.  Hannah 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  411 

met  him  with  an  air  of  touching  frankness  and  reliance,  clasp- 
ing his  hand  with  a  tender  firmness  which  atoned  for  the 
silence  of  her  lips.  She  looked  pale  and  exhausted,  but 
a  soft,  rosy  flush  passed  over  her  face  and  faded  away. 

"I  will  tell  mother  you  have  come,"  she  said.  The  next 
moment  she  reappeared  at  the  door  of  the  sick-room,  and 
beckoned  him  to  enter. 

The  widow  was  still  in  bed,  and  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen 
that  she  would  never  leave  it  again.  The  bouquet  of  gentian 
and  life-everlasting  stood  on  a  little. table  near  her  head.  Her 
prim  Quaker  cap  was  uncrumpled  by  the  pillow,  and  a  light 
fawn-colored  shawl  enveloped  her  shoulders.  She  might  have 
been  placed  in  the  gallery  of  the  meeting-house,  among  her 
sister  Friends,  without  a  single  fold  being  changed.  Her  thin 
hands  rested  weakly  on  the  coverlet,  and  her  voice  was 
scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but  the  strong  soul  which  had  sus- 
tained her  life  was  yet  clear  in  her  eye. 

The  daughter  placed  a  chair  for  Woodbury  by  the  bedside. 
He  sat  down  and  took  the  old  woman's  hand  in  both  his  own. 
She  looked  at  him  with  a  gentle,  affectionate,  motherly  benig- 
nity, which  made  his  eyes  dim  with  the  thought  of  his  own 
scarcely-remembered  mother. 

"Maxwell,"  she  said  at  last,  "thee  sees  my  days  on  the 
earth  are  not  many.  Thee  will  be  honest  with  me,  therefore, 
and  answer  me  out  of  thy  heart.  I  have  not  had  many  oppor- 
tunities of  seeing  thee,  but  thee  had  my  confidence  from  the 
first.  Thee  has  had  thy  struggles  with  the  world ;  thee  is  old 
enough  to  know  thyself,  and  I  will  believe  that  thee  hast 
learned  to  know  Hannah,  truly.  She  is  not  like  other  girls : 
she  was  always  inclined  to  go  her  own  way,  but  she  has  never 
failed  in  her  duty  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  not  fail  in  her 
duty  as  thy  wife." 

Hannah,  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  started  at  these 
words.  She  looked  imploringly  at  her  mother,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"  Yes,  Hannah,"    continued  the  old  woman,    "  I  have  no 


412  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

fears  for  thee,  when  thee  once  comes  to  understand  thy  true 
place  as  a  woman.  Thee  was  always  more  like  thy  father  than 
like  me.  I  see  that  it  has  not  been  easy  for  thee  to  give  up 
thy  ideas  of  independence,  but  I  am  sure  that  thy  husband 
will  be  gentle  and  forbearing,  so  that  thee  will  hardly  feel  the 
yoke.  Will  thee  not,  Maxwell  ?" 

"I  will,"  Woodbury  replied.  "I  have  told  your  daughter 
that  I  impose  no  conditions  upon  our  union.  It  was  the 
purity  and  truth  of  her  nature  which  drew  me  almost  against 
my  will,  to  love  her.  I  have  such  entire  faith  in  that  truth, 
that  I  believe  we  shall  gradually  come  into  complete  harmony, 
not  only  in  our  feelings  and  aspirations,  but  even  in  our 
external  views  of  life.  I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  whatever 
individual  convictions  may  stand  in  the  way  of  our  mutual  ap- 
proach, and  I  only  ask  of  Hannah  that  she  will  allow,  not 
resist,  the  natural  progress  of  her  heart  in  the  knowledge  of 
itself." 

"  Thee  hears  what  he  says  ?"  said  the  old  woman,  turning 
her  eyes  on  her  daughter.  "  Maxwell  has  answered  the  ques- 
tion I  intended  to  ask:  he  loves  thee,  Hannah,  as  thee 
deserves  to  be  loved.  The  thought  of  leaving  thee  alone  in 
the  world  was  a  cross  which  I  could  not  bring  my  mind  to 
bear.  The  Lord  has  been  merciful.  He  has  led  to  thee  the 
only  man  into  whose  hands  I  can  deliver  thee,  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  he  will  be  thy  stay  and  thy  happiness  when  I  am 
gone.  Tell  me,  my  daughter,  does  thee  answer  his  affection 
in  the  same  spirit  ?" 

"Mother,"  sobbed  Hannah,  "thee  knows  I  would  show 
thee  my  heart  if  I  could.  Maxwell  deserves  all  the  honor  and 
gratitude  I  am  capable  of  giving :  he  has  been  most  noble  and 
just  and  tender  towards  me:  I  cannot  reject  him — it  is  not  in 
my  nature — and  yet — don't  think  hard  of  me,  mother — it  has 
all  come  so  suddenly,  it  is  so  new  and  strange " 

Here  she  paused  and  covered  her  face,  unable  to  speak 
further. 

"It  seems  that  I  know  thee  better  than  I  thought,"   said 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  413 

the  widow,  and  something  like  a  smile  flitted  over  her  wasted 
features.  "  Thee  needn't  say  any  thing  more :  my  mind  is 
at  rest.  Come  nearer  to  me,  here,  and  seat  thyself  at  Max- 
well's side.  I  have  a  serious  concern  upon  me,  and  you  must 
both  bear  with  me  while  I  tell  it." 

The  daughter  came  and  seated  herself  at  the  head  of  the 
bed,  beside  Woodbury.  The  mother's  right  hand  seemed  to 
feel  for  hers,  and  she  gave  it.  The  other  found  its  way,  she 
knew  not  how,  into  his.  The  old  woman  looked  at  them  both, 
and  the  expression  of  peace  and  resignation  left  her  eyes. 
They  were  filled  with  a  tender  longing  which  she  hesitated  to 
put  into  words.  In  place  of  the  latter  came  tears,  and  then 
her  tongue  was  loosed. 

"My  children,"  she  whispered,  "it  is  best  to  be  plain  with 
you.  From  day  to  day  I  expect  to  hear  the  Master's  call.  I 
have  done  with  the  things  of  this  life ;  my  work  is  over,  and 
now  the  night  cometh,  when  I  shall  rest.  The  thought  came 
to  me  in  the  silent  watches,  when  I  lifted  up  my  soul  to  the 
Lord  and  thanked  Him  that  He  had  heard  my  prayer.  I 
thought,  then,  that  nothing  more  was  wanting ;  and,  indeed, 
it  may  be  unreasonable  of  me  to  ask  more.  But  what  I  ask 
seems  to  be  included  in  what  has  already  happened.  I  know 
the  instability  of  earthly  things,  and  I  should  like  to  see  with 
these  eyes,  the  security  of  my  daughter's  fate.  Maxwell,  I 
lost  the  little  son  who  would  have  been  so  near  thy  age  had  he 
lived.  Will  thee  give  me  the  right  to  call  thee  c  son'  in  his 
place  ?  Is  thee  so  sure  of  thy  heart  that  thee  could  give  Han- 
nah thy  name  now  ?  It  is  a  foolish  wish  of  mine,  I  know  ;  but 
if  you  love  each  other,  children,  you  may  be  glad,  in  the 
coining  time,  that  the  poor  old  mother  lived  to  see  and  to 
bless  your  union !" 

Woodbury  was  profoundly  moved.  He  tenderly  kissed  the 
wasted  hand  he  held,  and  said,  in  a  hushed,  reverential  voice  : 
"  I  am  sure  of  my  own  heart.  With  your  daughter's  consent, 
it  shall  be  as  you  say." 

"  Mother,  mother !"  cried  Hannah :  "  I  cannot  leave  thee  !" 


414  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

"  Thee  shall  not,  child.  I  would  not  ask  it  of  thee.  Max- 
well knows  what  I  mean  :  nothing  shall  be  changed  while 
I  live,  but  you  will  not  be  parted  for  long.  Nay,  perhaps, 
I  am  selfish  in  this  thing.  Tell  me,  honestly,  my  children, 
would  it  make  your  wedding  sad,  when  it  should  be  joy- 
ful ?" 

"  It  will  make  it  sacred,"  Woodbury  answered. 

"  I  will  not  ask  too  much  of  thee,  Hannah,"  the  widow  con- 
tinued. "  What  I  wish  would  give  me  a  feeling  of  comfort 
and  security  ;  but  I  know  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  without  it.  I 
have  had  my  own  concerns  on  thy  account ;  I  saw  a  thorny 
path  before  thee  if  thee  were  obliged  to  walk  through  life 
alone,  and  I  feared  thee  would  never  willingly  bend  thy  neck 
to  wear  the  pleasant  yoke  of  a  wife.  If  I  knew  that  thy  lot 
was  fixed,  in  truth  ;  if  I  could  hear  thee  speak  the  words 
which  tell  me  that  I  have  not  lost  a  daughter  but  gained  a 
son,  the  last  remaining  bitterness  would  be  taken  from  death, 
and  I  would  gladly  arise  and  go  to  my  Father  !" 

All  remaining  power  of  resistance  was  taken  away  from 
Hannah  Thurston.  She  had  yielded  so  far  that  she  could  no 
longer  retreat  with  honor.  Woodbury  had  taken,  almost  even 
before  he  claimed  it,  the  first  place  in  her  thoughts,  and  though 
she  still  scarcely  confessed  to  herself  that  she  loved  him  as 
her  husband  should  be  loved,  yet  her  whole  being  was  pene- 
trated with  the  presentiment  of  coming  love.  If  she  still 
feebly  strove  to  beat  back  the  rising  tide,  it  was  not  from  fear 
of  her  inability  to  return  the  trust  he  gave,  but  rather  a  me- 
chanical effort  to  retain  the  independence  which  she  felt  to  be 
gradually  slipping  from  her  grasp.  Her  mother's  words 
showed  her  that  she,  also,  foreboded  this  struggle  and  doubted 
its  solution  ;  she  had,  alas  !  given  her  cause  to  mistrust  the 
unexpected  emotion.  Towards  men — towards  Woodbury, 
especially — she  had  showed  herself  hard  and  unjust  in  that 
mother's  eyes.  Could  she  refuse  to  remove  the  unspoken 
doubt  by  postponing  a  union,  which,  she  acknowledged  to  her- 
self, was  destined  to  come  ?  Could  she  longer  hold  back  her 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  415 

entire  faith  from  Woodbury,  with  his  parting  kiss  of  yesterday 
still  warm  upon  her  lips  ? 

She  leaned  forward,  and  bent  her  head  upon  the  old  wo- 
man's breast.  "  Mother,"  she  said,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice, 
"  it  shall  be  as  thee  wishes." 

The  widow  tenderly  stroked  her  dark-brown  hair.  "  If  I 
were  not  sure  it  was  right,  Hannah,"  she  said,  "  I  would  give 
thee  back  thy  consent.  Let  it  be  soon,  pray,  for  I  see  that 
my  sojourn  with  you  is  well-nigh  its  end." 

"Let  it  be  to-morrow,  Hannah*,"  Woodbury  then  said. 
"  Every  thing  shall  be  afterwards  as  it  was  before.  I  will  not 
take  you  from  your  mother's  bedside,  but  you  will  simply  give 
me  the  right  to  offer,  and  her  the  right  to  receive,  a  son's  help 
and  comfort." 

It  was  so  arranged.  Only  the  persons  most  intimately  con- 
nected with  both — Waldos,  Merryfields,  Bute  and  Carrie — 
were  to  be  informed  of  the  circumstances  and  invited  to  be 
present.  Mr.  Waldo,  of  course,  was  to  solemnize  the  union, 
though  the  widow  asked  that  the  Quaker  form  of  marriage 
should  first  be  repeated  in  her  presence.  She  was  exhausted 
by  the  interview,  and  Woodbury  soon  took  his  leave,  to  give 
the  necessary  announcements. 

'  Hannah  accompanied  him  to  the  door,  and  when  it  closed 
behind  him,  murmured  to  herself: 

"  I  strove  against  the  stream,  and  strove  in  vain — 
Let  the  great  river  bear  me  to  the  main!" 

The  Waldos  were  alone  in  their  little  parlor — alone,  but 
not  lonely  ;  for  they  were  one  of  those  fortunate  wedded  pairs 
who  never  tire  of  their  own  society.  The  appearance  of 
Woodbury,  out  of  the  wind  and  rain,  was  a  welcome  surprise, 
and  they  both  greeted  him  with  hearty  delight. 

"  Husband,"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  do  put  the  poor  horse  into 
our  stable,  beside  Dobbin.  Mr.  Woodbury  will  not  think  of 
going  home  until  after  tea." 

The  clergyman  was  half-way  through  the  door  before  the- 


416  HANNAH  THTJKSTON: 

guest  could  grasp  his  arm.    "  Stay,  if  you  please,"  he  said ;  "  I 
have  something  to  say,  at  once,  to  both  of  you." 

His  voice  was  so  grave  and  earnest,  that  they  turned 
towards  him  with  a  sudden  alarm.  Something  in  his  face 
tranquilized  while  it  perplexed  them. 

"I  once  promised  you,  Mrs.  Waldo,"  he  continued,  "that 
your  husband  should  perform  the  marriage  ceremony  for  me. 
The  time  has  come  when  I  can  fulfil  my  promise.  I  am  to  be 
married  to-morrow !" 

The  clergyman's  lips  receded  so  as  to  exhibit,  not  only  all 
of  bis  teeth,  but  also  a  considerable  portion  of  the  gums.  His 
wife's  dark  eyes  expanded,  her  hands  involuntarily  came 
together  in  a  violent  clasp,  and  her  breath  was  suspended. 

"I  am  to  be  married  to-morrow,"  Woodbury  repeated, 
"  to  Hannah  Thurston." 

Mrs.  Waldo  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair.  "  It's  a  poor 
joke,"  she  said,  at  last,  with  a  feeble  attempt  to  laugh  ;  "  and 
I  shouldn't  have  believed  you  could  make  it." 

In  a  very  few  words  he  told  them  the  truth.  The  next 
moment,  Mrs.  Waldo  sprang  upon  her  feet,  threw  both  arms 
around  him,  and  kissed  him  tempestuously.  "  I  can't  help  it, 
husband !"  she  cried,  giving  way  to  a  mild  hysterical  fit  of 
laughter  and  tears :  "  It's  so  rarely  things  happen  as  they 
ought,  in  this  world !  What  a  fool  I've  been,  to  think  you 
hated  each  other !  I  shall  never  trust  my  eyes  again,  no,  nor 
my  ears,  nor  my  stupid  brains.  I'll  warrant  Mrs.  Blake  was 
a  deal  sharper  than  I  have  been  ;  see  if  she  is  surprised  when 
you  send  her  word !  Oh,  you  dear  people,  how  happy  you 
have  made  me — I'd  rather  it  should  come  so  than  that  hus- 
band should  get  a  thousand  converts,  and  build  the  biggest 
church  in  Ptolemy !" 

Mr.  Waldo  also  was  moved,  in  his  peculiar  fashion.  He 
cleared  his  throat  as  if  about  to  commence  a  prayer,  walked 
three  times  to  the  door  and  back,  squeezing  Woodbury's 
hand  afresh  at  each  return,  and  finally  went  to  the  window 
and  remarked :  "  It  is  very  stormy  to-day." 


A   STOBY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  41 7 

In  proportion  as  the  good  people  recovered  from  their 
happy  amazement,  Woodbury  found  it  difficult  to  tear  himself 
away.  They  stormed  him  with  questions  about  the  rise  and 
progress  of  his  attachment,  which  his  sense  of  delicacy  for- 
bade him  to  answer.  "  It  is  enough,"  he  said,  "  that  we  love 
each  other,  and  that  we  are  to  be  married  to-morrow." 
As  he  turned  his  horse's  head  towards  Ptolemy,  a  figure 
wrapped  in  an  old  cloak  and  with  a  shapeless  quilted  hood 
upon  the  head,  appeared  on  the  plank  sidewalk  hastening 
in  the  direction  of  the  widow's  •  cottage.  It  was  Mrs. 
Waldo. 

The  Merryfields  were  also  at  home  when  he  called.  Their 
life  had,  of  late,  been  much  more  quiet,  and  subdued  than  former- 
ly, and  hence  they  have  almost  vanished  out  of  this  history  ; 
but,  from  the  friendly  relation  which  they  bore  to  Hannah 
Thurston,  they  could  not  well  be  omitted  from  the  morrow's 
occasion.  The  news  was  unexpected,  but  did  not  seem  to 
astonish  them  greatly,  as  they  were  both  persons  of  slow  per- 
ceptions, and  had  not  particularly  busied  their  minds  about 
either  of  the  parties. 

"I'm  sure  I'm  very  glad,  as  it  were,"  said  Mr.  Merryfield. 
"  There  are  not  many  girls  like  Hannah  Thurston,  and  she 
deserves  to  be  well  provided  for." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  good  thing  for  her,"  remarked  his  wife,  with 
a  little  touch  of  malice,  which,  however,  was  all  upon  the 
surface;  "but  Women's  Rights  will  be  what  they  always 
was,  if  their  advocates  give  them  up." 

Darkness  was  setting  down,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  as 
Woodbury  reached  Lakeside.  Bute,  who  had  been  coming 
to  the  door  every  five  minutes  for  the  last  hour,  had  heard  the 
rattling  of  wheels  through  the  storm,  and  the  Irishman 
was  already  summoned  to  take  charge  of  the  horse.  In  the 
sitting-room  it  was  snug,  and  bright,  and  cheerful.  A  wood- 
fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  and  Mrs.  Carrie,  with  a  silk  handker- 
chief tied  under  her  chin,  was  dodging  about  the  tea-table. 
By  the  kindly  glow  in  his  heart  towards  these  two  happy 
18* 


418  HANNAH  THUKSTON  : 

creatures,  Woodbury  felt  that  his  cure  was  complete ;  their 
bliss  no  longer  had  power  to  disturb  him. 

"How  pleasant  it  is  here  !"  he  said.  "You  really  make  the 
house  home-like,  Mrs.  Wilson." 

Carrie's  eyes  sparkled  and  her  cheeks  reddened  with  de- 
light. Bute  thought :  "  He's  had  no  unlucky  business,  after 
all."  But  he  was  discreet  enough  to  ask  no  questions. 

After  tea,  Woodbury  did  not  go  into  the  library,  as  usual. 
He  drew  a  chair  towards  the  fire,  and  for  a  while  watched  Mrs. 
Wilson's  fingers,  as  they  rapidly  plied  the  needles  upon  a  pair 
of  winter  socks  for  Bute.  The  latter  sat  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fire,  reading  Dana's  "  Two  Years  before  the  Mast." 

"  Bute,"  said  Woodbury,  suddenly,  "  do  you  think  we  have 
room  for  another,  in  the  house  ?" 

To  his  surprise,  Bute  blushed  up  to  the  temples,  and  seemed 
embarrassed  how  to  answer.  He  looked  stealthily  at  Carrie. 

Woodbury  smiled,  and  hastened  to  release  him  from  his 
error.  "  Because,"  said  he,  "  you  brought  something  to  Lake- 
side more  contagious  than  your  fever.  I  have  caught  it,  and 
now  I  am  going  to  marry." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Max.,  you  don't  mean  it !  It's  not  Miss  Amelia 
Smith?" 

Woodbury  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing,  Bute  ?"  exclaimed  his 
wife.  "There's  only  one  woman  in  all  Ptolemy  worthy  of 
Mr.  Woodbury,  and  yet  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  her." 

"  Who,  Mrs.  Wilson  ?" 

"  You  won't  be  offended,  Sir,  will  you  ?  I  mean  Hannah 
Thurston." 

"  You  have  guessed  it !" 

Carrie  gave  a  little  scream  and  dropped  her  knitting.  Bute 
tried  to  laugh,  but  something  caught  in  his  throat,  and  in  his 
efforts  to  swallow  it  the  water  came  into  his  eyes. 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  419 


CHAPTER    XXXHI. 

CONCERNING    MARRIAGE,    DEATH,    GOSSIP,    AND    GOING   HOME. 

THE  occasion  which  called  the  few  friends  together  at  the 
cottage,  the  next  morning,  was  sad  and  touching,  as  well  as 
joyful.  At  least,  each  one  felt  that  the  usual  cheerful  sympa- 
thy with  consummated  love  would  be  out  of  place,  in  circum- 
stances so  unusual  and  solemn.  The  widow  felt  that  she  was 
robbing  her  daughter's  marriage  of  that  sunshine  which  of 
right  belonged  to  it,  but  in  this,  as  in  all  other  important  de- 
cisions of  life,  she  was  guided  by  "  the  spirit."  She  perceived, 
indeed,  that  Hannah  had  not  yet  reached  the  full  consciousness 
of  her  love — that  the  fixed  characteristics  of  her  mind  fought 
continually  against  her  heart,  and  would  so  fight  while  any 
apparent  freedom  of  will  remained ;  and,  precisely  for  this  rea- 
son, the  last  exercise  of  maternal  authority  was  justified  to  her 
own  soul.  In  the  clairvoyance  of  approaching  death  she 
looked  far  enough  into  the  future  to  know  that,  without  this 
bond,  her  daughter's  happiness  was  uncertain :  with  it,  she 
saw  the  struggling  elements  resolve  themselves  into  harmony. 

Wbodbury  suspected  the  mother's  doubt,  though  he  did  not 
share  it  to  the  same  extent.  He  believed  that  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  struggle  was  over.  The  chain  was  forged,  and  by 
careful  forbearance  and  tenderness  it  might  be  imperceptibly 
clasped.  There  were  still  questions  to  be  settled,  but  he  had 
already  abdicated  the  right  of  control ;  he  had  intrusted  their 
solution  to  the  natural  operation  of  time  and  love.  He  would 
neither  offer  nor  accept  any  express  stipulations  of  rights,  for 
this  one  promise  embraced  them  all.  Her  nature  could  only 
be  soothed  to  content  in  its  new  destiny  by  the  deeper  knowl- 


420  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


edge  which  that  destiny  would  bring,  and  therefore,  the 
mother's  request  was  perhaps  best  for  both.  It  only  imposed 
upon  him  a  more  guarded  duty,  a  more  watchful  self-control, 
in  the  newness  of  their  relation  to  each  other. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  unable  to  sleep  all  night  from  the  excitement 
of  her  honest  heart,  was  with  Hannah  Thurston  early  in  the 
morning.  It  was  as  well,  no  doubt,  that  the  latter  was  allowed 
no  time  for  solitary  reflection,  as  the  hour  approached.  By 
ten  o'clock  the  other  friends,  who  had  first  driven  to  the  Cim- 
merian Parsonage,  made  their  appearance  in  the  little  sitting- 
room.  Woodbury  came  in  company  with  Mr.  Waldo,  followed 
by  Bute  and  Carrie.  He  was  simply  dressed  in  black,  without 
the  elaborate  waistcoat  and  cravat  of  a  bridegroom.  But  for 
the  cut  of  his  coat  collar,  the  Friends  themselves  would  not 
have  found  fault  with  his  apparel.  His  face  was  calm  and 
serene  :  whatever  emotion  he  felt  did  not  appear  on  the 
surface. 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  in  a  lavender-colored  silk,  which  made  her 
sallow  complexion  appear  worse  than  ever,  occasionally  raised 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  although  there  were  no  signs  of 
unusual  moisture  in  them. 

The  door  to  the  invalid's  room  was  open,  and  the  bed  had 
been  moved  near  it,  so  that  she  could  both  see  and  converse 
with  the  company  in  the  sitting-room.  Her  spotless  book- 
muslin  handkerchief  and  shawl  of  white  crape-silk  were 
scarcely  whiter  than  her  face,  but  a  deep  and  quiet  content 
dwelt  in  her  eyes  and  gave  its  sweetness  to  her  feeble  voice. 
She  greeted  them  all  with  a  grateful  and  kindly  cheerfulness. 
The  solemnity  of  the  hour  was  scarcely  above  the  earnest 
level  of  her  life  ;  it  was  an  atmosphere  in  which  her  soul 
moved  light  and  free. 

Presently  Hannah  Thurston  came  into  the  room.  She  was 
dressed  in  white  muslin,  with  a  very  plain  lace  collar  and  knot 
of  white  satin  ribbon.  Her  soft  dark  hair,  unadorned  by  a 
single  flower,  was  brought  a  little  further  forward  on  the  tem- 
ples, giving  a  gentler  feminine  outline  to  her  brow.  Her  face 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  421 

was  composed  and  pale,  but  for  a  spot  of  red  on  each  cheek, 
and  a  singularly  vague,  weary  expression  in  her  eyes.  When 
Woodbury  took  her  hand  it  was  icy  cold.  She  received  the 
greetings  of  the  others  quietly,  and  then  went  forward  to  the 
bedside,  at  the  beckon  of  her  mother.  The  latter  had  been 
allowed  to  direct  the  ceremony  according  to  her  wish,  and 
the  time  had  now  arrived. 

The  bridal  pair  took  their  seats  in  the  sitting-room,  side  by 
side,  and  facing  the  open  door  where  the  invalid  lay.  The 
guests,  on  either  side  of  them,  formed  a  half-circle,  so  arranged 
that  she  could  see  them  all.  She,  indeed,  seemed  to  be  the 
officiating  priestess,  on  whom  depended  the  solemnization  of 
the  rite.  After  a  few  moments  of  silence,  such  as  is  taken  for 
worship  in  Quaker  meetings,  she  began  to  speak.  Her  voice 
gathered  strength  as  she  proceeded,  and  assumed  the  clear, 
chanting  tone  with  which,  in  former  years,  she  had  been  wont 
to  preach  from  the  gallery  where  she  sat  among  the  women- 
elders  of  the  sect. 

"  My  friends,"  she  said,  "  I  feel  moved  to  say  a  few  words 
to  you  all.  I  feel  that  you  have  not  come  here  without  a 
realizing  sense  of  the  occasion  which  has  called  you  together, 
and  that  your  hearts  are  prepared  to  sympathize  with  those 
which  are  now  to  be  joined  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord.  I  have 
asked  of  them  that  they  allow  mine  eyes,  in  the  short  time 
that  is  left  to  me  for  the  things  of  earth,  to  look  upon  their 
union.  When  I  have  seen  that,  I  can  make  my  peace  with 
the  world,  and,  although  I  have  not  been  in  all  things  a  faith- 
ful servant,  I  can  hope  that  the  joy  of  the  Lord  will  not  be 
shut  out  from  my  soul.  I  feel  the  approach  of  the  peace  that 
passeth  understanding,  and  would  not  wish  that,  for  my 
sake,  the  house  of  gladness  be  made  the  house  of  mourning. 
Let  your  hearts  be  not  disturbed  by  the  thought  of  me.  Re- 
joice, rather,  that  the  son  I  lost  so  long  ago  is  found  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  and  that  the  prop  for  which  I  sought,  for 
strength  to  walk  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  is  merci- 
fully placed  in  my  hands.  For  I  say  unto  you  all,  the  pure 


422  HANNAH    TIIUESTON  . 

affection  of  the  human  heart  is  likest  the  love  of  the  Heavenly 
Father,  and  they  who  bestow  most  of  the  one  shall  deserve 
most  of  the  other  !"• 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  made  a  sign  with  her  hand.  The 
hearts  of  the  hearers  were  thrilled  with  a  solemn,  reverential 
awe,  as  if  something  more  than  a  human  presence  overshadowed 
them.  Woodbury  and  Hannah  arose,  in  obedience  to  her 
signal,  and  moved  a  step  towards  her.  The  former  had  learned 
the  simple  formula  of  the  Friends,  and  was  ready  to  perform 
his  part.  Taking  Hannah's  right  hand  in  his  own,  he  spoke 
in  a  clear,  low,  earnest  voice  :  "  In  the  presence  of  the  Lord, 
and  these,  our  friends,  I  take  Hannah  Thurston  by  the  hand, 
promising,  through  Divine  assistance,  to  be  unto  her  a  loving 
and  faithful  husband,  until  Death  shall  separate  us." 

It  was  now  the  woman's  turn.  Perhaps  Woodbury  may 
have  felt  a  pulse  fluttering  in  the  hand  he  held,  but  no  one  saw 
a  tremor  of  weakness  in  her  frame  or  heard  it  in  the  firm, 
perfect  sweetness  of  her  voice.  She  looked  in  his  eyes  as  she 
pronounced  the  words,  as  if  her  look  should  carry  to  his  heart 
the  significance  of  the  vow.  When  she  had  spoken,  Mr.  Waldo 
rose,  and  performed  the  scarcely  less  simple  ceremonial  of  the 
Cimmerian  Church.  After  he  had  pronounced  them  man  and 
wife,  with  his  hands  resting  on  theirs  linked  in  each  other,  he 
made  a  benedictory  prayer.  He  spoke  manfully  to  the  end, 
though  his  eyes  overflowed,  and  his  practised  voice  threatened 
at  every  moment  to  break.  His  hearers  had  melted  long  be- 
fore :  only  the  Widow  Thurston  and  the  newly-wedded  pair 
preserved  their  composure.  They  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
sentiment,  no  matter  how  tender.  None  'of  the  others  sus- 
pected what  a  battle  had  been  fought,  nor  what  deeper  issues 
were  involved  in  the  victory. 

The  two  then  moved  to  the  bedside,  and  the  old  woman 
kissed  them  both.  "  Mother,"  said  Woodbury,  "  let  me  be  a 
son  to  you  in  truth  as  in  name." 

"  Richard  !"  she  cried,  "  my  dear  boy !  Thee  is  welcomer 
than  Richard,  for  Hannah's  sake.  Children,  have  faith  in  each 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  423 

other — bear  each  other's  burdens.  Hannah,  is  there  peace  in 
thy  heart  now  ?" 

"Mother,  I  have  promised,"  she  answered  ;  "I  have  given 
my  life  into  Maxwell's  hands  :  peace  will  come  to  me." 

"  The  Lord  give  it  to  thee,  as  He  hath  given  it  to  me !" 
She  closed  her  eyes,  utterly  exhausted,  but  happy. 

The  marriage  certificate  was  then  produced  and  signed  by 
those  present,  after  which  they  took  their  leave.  Woodbury 
remained  until  evening,  assisting  his  wife  in  her  attendance  on 
the  invalid,  or  keeping  her  company  ki  the  sitting-room,  when 
the  latter  slept.  He  said  nothing  of  his  love,  or  his  new  claim 
upon  her.  Rightly  judging  that  her  nature  needed  rest,  after 
the  severe  tension  of  the  past  week,  he  sought  to  engage  her 
in  talk  that  would  call  her  thoughts  away  from  herself.  He 
was  so  successful  in  this  that  the  hours  fled  fast,  and  when  he 
left  with  the  falling  night,  to  return  to  Lakeside,  she  felt  as  if 
a  stay  had  been  withdrawn  from  her. 

The  next  morning  he  was  back  again  at  an  early  hour,  taking 
his  place  as  one  of  the  household,  as  quietly  and  unobtrusively 
as  if  he  had  long  been  accustomed  to  it.  Another  atmosphere 
came  into  the  cottage  with  him — a  sense  of  strength  and  reli- 
ance, and  tender,  protecting  care,  which  was  exceedingly 
grateful  to  Hannah.  The  chaos  of  her  emotions  was  already 
beginning  to  subside,  or,  rather,  to  set  towards  her  husband  in 
a  current  that  grew  swifter  day  after  day.  The  knowledge 
that  her  fate  was  already  determined  silenced  at  once  what 
would  otherwise  have  been  her  severest  conflict;  her  chief 
remaining  task  was  to  reconcile  the  cherished  aims  of  her 
mind  with  the  new  sphere  of  duties  which  encompassed  her 
life.  At  present,  however,  even  this  task  must  be  postponed. 
She  dared  think  of  nothing  but  her  mother,  and  Wood- 
bury's  share  in  the  cares  and  duties  of  the  moment  became 
more  and  more  welcome  and  grateful.  It  thrilled  her  with  a 
sweet  sense  of  the  kinship  of  their  hearts,  when  she  heard  him 
address  the  old  woman  as  "  mother" — when  his  arm,  as  ten- 
der as  strong,  lifted  that  mother  from  the  bed  to  the  rocking- 


424  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


chair,  and  back  again  —  when  she  saw  the  wasted  face  brighten 
at  his  coming,  and  heard  the  voice  of  wandering  memory  call 
him,  in  the  wakeful  watches  of  the  night.  She,  too,  counted 
the  minutes  of  the  morning  until  he  appeared,  and  felt  the 
twilight  drop  more  darkly  before  the  cottage-  windows  after 
he  had  gone. 

But,  as  the  widow  had  promised,  she  did  not  part  them 
long.  On  the  fifth  day  after  the  marriage  she  sank  peacefully 
to  rest,  towards  sunset,  with  a  gradual,  painless  fading  out  of 
life,  which  touched  the  hearts  of  the  watchers  only  with  the 
solemn  beauty  and  mystery  of  death,  not  with  its  terror. 
Her  external  consciousness  had  ceased,  some  hours  before,  but 
she  foresaw  the  coming  of  the  inevitable  hour,  and  there  was 
a  glad  resignation  in  her  farewell  to  her  daughter  and  her 
newly-found  sou.  "  Love  one  another  !"  were  her  last,  faintly- 
whispered  words,  as  her  eyes  closed  on  both. 

Hannah  shrank  from  leaving  the  cottage  before  the  last 
rites  had  been  performed,  and  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson,  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Waldo,  offered  to  remain  with  her.  Woodbury 
took  charge  of  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  which  were 
simple  and  unostentatious,  as  became  the  habit  of  her  sect. 

A  vague  impression  of  what  had  happened  was  floating 
through  Ptolemy,  but  was  generally  received  with  an  incredu- 
lity far  from  consistent  with  the  avidity  of  village  gossip. 
The  death  of  the  Widow  Thurston  had  been  anticipated,  but 
the  previous  marriage  of  her  daughter  was  an  event  so  as- 
tounding —  so  completely  unheralded  by  the  usual  prognostica- 
tions, and  so  far  beyond  the  reach  of  any  supposable  cause  — 
that  the  mind  of  Ptolemy  was  slow  to  receive  it  as  truth.  By 
the  day  of  the  funeral,  however,  the  evidences  had  accumulated 
to  an  extent  that  challenged  further  doubt.  But  doubters  and 
believers  alike  determined  to  profit  by  the  occasion  to  gratify 
their  curiosity  under  the  Christian  pretext  of  showing  respect 
to  the  departed.  The  rumor  had  even  reached  Atauga  City 
by  the  evening  stage,  and  the  Misses  Smith,  having  recently 
supplied  them  elves  with  lilac  dresses,  which,  as  a  half-mourn- 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  425 

ing  color,  would  not  be  inappropriate,  resolved  also  to  attend 
the  funeral  services. 

As  the  hour  drew  nigh,  the  road  in  front  of  the  little  cot- 
tage was  crowded  with  vehicles.  It  was  a  mild,  sunny  Oc- 
tober afternoon,  and  as  the  room  in  which  the  corpse  lay  would 
not  contain  a  tenth  part  of  the  guests,  they  filled  the  yard  and 
garden  and  even  the  side- walk  in  front,  entering  the  house  as 
they  arrived,  to  take  that  silent  look  at  the  dead  which  is  sug- 
gested, let  us  believe,  more  by  human  sympathy  than  by  hu- 
man curiosity.  And,  indeed,  a  solemn  loveliness  of  repose 
rested  on  the  thin,  composed  features  of  the  corpse.  All 
shadow  of  pain  had  passed  away,  and  an  aspect  of  ineffable 
peace  and  comfort  had  settled  in  its  place.  Her  hands  were 
laid,  one  over  the  other,  upon  her  breast — not  with  the  stony 
pressure  of  death,  but  as  if  in  the  light  unconsciousness  of 
sleep.  Upon  the  coffin-lid  lay  a  wreath  of  life-everlasting,  its 
gray,  silvery  leaves  and  rich,  enduring  odor,  harmonizing  well 
with  the  subdued  tastes  and  the  quiet  integrity  of  the  sect  to 
which  the  old  widow  had  belonged.  Even  the  Rev.  Lemuel 
Styles,  to  whom  the  term  "  Quaker"  implied  a  milder  form 
of  infidelity,  stood  for  a  long  time  beside  the  coffin,  absorbed 
in  the  beauty  of  the  calm,  dead  face,  and  murmured  as  he 
turned'away :  "  She  hath  found  Peace." 

Two  old  Friends  from  Tiberius,  with  their  wives,  were  also 
in  attendance,  and  the  latter  devoted  themselves  to  Hannah, 
as  if  it  were  a  special  duty  imposed  upon  them.  Before  the 
coffin-lid  was  screwed  down,  they  sat  for  some  time  beside  the 
corpse,  with  their  handkerchiefs  pressed  tightly  over  their 
mouths.  Their  husbands,  with  Mr.  Waldo  and  Merryfield, 
bore  the  coffin  to  the  hearse.  The  guests  gathered  around 
and  in  front  of  the  house  now  began  to  open  their  eyes  and 
prick  their  ears.  The  daughter  must  presently  appear,  as  first 
of  the  mourners,  and  in  company  with  her  husband,  if  she 
were  really  married.  They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Hannah, 
leaning  on  Woodbury's  arm,  issued  from  the  front  door  of 
the  cottage,  and  slowly  passed  down  the  gravel  walk  to  the 


426  HANNAH   THTJKSTON  I 

carriage  in  waiting.  Her  unveiled  face  was  pale  and  pro- 
foundly sad ;  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  none  of  the  com- 
pany caught  their  full  glance.  Woodbury's  countenance  in- 
dicated the  grave  and  tender  sympathy  which  filled  his  heart. 
He  saw  the  spectators,  without  seeming  to  notice  them, 
and  the  keenest  curiosity  was  baffled  by  his  thorough  self- 
possession.  Both  were  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  sor- 
row and  resignation,  in  which  all  expression  of  their  new 
nuptial  relation  was  lost.  They  might  have  been  married  for 
years,  so  far  as  any  thing  could  be  guessed  from  their  manner. 

The  other  carriages  gradually  received  their  occupants  and 
followed,  in  the  order  of  their  nearness  to  the  deceased, 
whether  in  the  bonds  of  sect  or  those  of  friendship.  Among 
these  the  Waldos  claimed  a  prominent  place  and  the  Merry- 
fields  were  close  behind  them.  The  procession  was  unusually 
large ;  it  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  all  Ptolemy  were  present.  On 
reaching  the  Cimmerian  churchyard,  Bute  and  the  farmers 
whose  lands  adjoined  Lakeside  were  on  hand  to  assist  the 
mourners  and  their  friends  in  alighting  from  the  carriages,  and 
to  take  care  of  the  horses.  The  grave  was  dug  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  those  of  the  Cimmerians,  in  a  plot  of  soft,  un- 
broken turf.  Supports  were  laid  across  its  open  mouth,  and 
when  the  coffin  had  been  deposited  thereon,  preparatory  to  being 
lowered,  and  the  crowd  had  gathered  in  a  silent  ring,  enclosing 
the  mourners  and  their  immediate  friends,  one  of  the  Friends 
took  off  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  in  simple,  eloquent  words, 
bore  testimony  to  the  truth  and  uprightness,  to  the  Christian 
trust  and  Christian  patience  of  the  departed.  The  two  women 
again  pressed  their  handkerchiefs  violently  upon  their  mouths, 
while  he  spoke.  Woodbury  took  off  his  hat  and  reverently 
bent  his  head,  though  the  other  Friend  stood  bolt  upright  and 
remained  covered. 

Mr.  Waldo  then  followed,  with  an  earnest,  heart-felt  prayer. 
He  was  scarcely  aware  how  much  he  risked  in  thus  conse- 
crating the  burial  of  a  Quaker  woman,  and  it  was  fortunate 
that  no  laxity  of  doctrine  could  be  discovered  in  the  brief  sen- 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  427 

tences  lie  uttered.  It  was  not  Doctrine,  but  Religion,  which 
inspired  his  words,  and  the  most  intolerant  of  his  hearers  felt 
their  power  while  secretly  censuring  the  act.  He,  too,  refer- 
red to  the  widow's  life  as  an  example  of  pious  resignation,  ana 
prayed  that  the  same  Christian  virtue  might  come  to  dwell  in 
the  hearts  of  all  present. 

When  the  coffin  had  been  lowered,  and  the  first  spadeful 
of  earth,  though  softly  let  down  into  the  grave,  dropped  upon 
the  lid  with  a  muffled,  hollow  roll,  Hannah  started  as  if  in  pain, 
and  clung  with  both  hands  to  her  husband's  arm.  He  bent 
his  head  to  her  face  and  whispered  a  word  ;  what  it  was,  no 
other  ear  than  hers  succeeded  in  hearing.  The  dull,  rumbling 
sounds  continued,  until  the  crumbling  whisper  of  the  particles 
of  earth  denoted  that  the  coffin  was  forever  covered  from 
sight.  Then  they  turned  away,  leaving  the  mild  Autumn 
sun  to  shine  on  the  new  mound,  and  the  thrush  to  pipe  his 
broken  song  over  the  silence  of  the  dead. 

The  moment  the  churchyard  gate  was  passed,  Ptolemy  re- 
turned to  its  gossip.  The  incredulous  fact  was  admitted,  but 
the  mystery  surrounding  it  was  not  yet  explained.  In  the  few 
families  who  considered  themselves  "the  upper  circle,"  and 
were  blessed  with  many  daughters,  to  none  of  whom  the  rich 
owner  of  Lakeside  had  been  indifferent,  there  was  great  and 
natural  exasperation. 

u  I  consider  it  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence,"  said  Mrs. 
Hamilton  Bue  to  her  husband,  as  they  drove  homewards ; 
"  for  a  man  like  him,  who  knows  what  society  is,  and  ought 
to  help  to  purtect  it  from  fanaticism,  to  marry  a  strong-minded 
woman  like  she  is.  .And  after  all  he  said  against  their  doc- 
trines !  I  should  call  it  hypocritical,  I  should  !" 

"  Martha,"  her  husband  answered,  "  If  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  say  much  about  it,  for  a  while  yet.  He's  only  in- 
sured  in  the  Saratoga  Mutual  for  a  year,  to  try  it." 

Mrs.  Styles  consoled  her  sister,  Miss  Legrand,  who  at  one 
time  allowed  herself  dim  hopes  of  interesting  Woodbury  in 
her  behalf.  *'  I  always  feared  that  he  was  not  entirely  firm  in 


428  HANNAH  THTJKSTON: 


the  faith  ;  he  never  seemed  inclined  to  talk  with  Mr.  Styles 
about  it  She,  you  know,  is  quite  an  Infidel,  and,  of  course, 
he  could  not  have  been  ignorant  of  it.  It's  very  sad  to  see  a 
man  so  misled  —  'the  lust  of  the  eye,'  Harriet." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  witchcraft,"  Harriet  remarked,  with  a 
snappish  tone  ;  "  she's  a  very  plain-looking  girl  —  like  an  owl 
with  her  big  gray  eyes  and  straight  hair."  Miss  Legrand 
wore  «iers  in  ropy  ringlets  of  great  length. 

"  1  shouldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't  seen  it  with  my 
own  eyes  !"  exclaimed  Miss  Celia  Smith  to  her  sister,  Miss 
Amelia.  "  I  always  thought  they  were  dead  set  against  each 
other."  Miss  Celia  was  more  inclined  to  be  emphatic  than 
choice  in  her  expressions. 

"They  made  believe  they  were,"  her  sister  replied.  "  She  must 
have  been  afraid  he'd  back  out,  after  all,  or  they  wouldn't  have 
been  married  so,  right  off  the  reel.  It  was  her  last  chance  : 
she's  on  the  wrong  side  of  thirty-five,  I  should  say."  Miss 
Amelia  was  thirty-three,  herself,  although  she  only  confessed 
f/^  twenty-five.  The  memory  of  a  certain  sleigh-ride  the 
winter  before,  during  which  her  incessant  fears  of  an  overturn 
^bliged  Woodbury  to  steady  her  with  his  arm,  was  fresh  in 
her  mind,  with  all  its  mingled  sweet  and  bitter.  Several 
virgin  hearts  shared  the  same  thought,  as  the  carriages  went 
homeward  —  that  it  was  a  shame,  so  it  was,  that  this  strong- 
minded  woman,  whom  nobody  imagined  ever  could  be  a  rival, 
should  sneak  into  the  fold  by  night  and  carry  off  the  pick  of 
the  masculine  flock  ! 

Meanwhile,  the  objects  of  all  this  gossip  returned  to  the 
desolate  cottage.  When  they  entered  the  little  sitting-room, 
Hannah's  composure  gave  way,  under  the  overwhelming  sense 
of  her  loss  which  rushed  upon  her,  as  she  saw  that  every  thing 
was  restored  to  its  usual  place,  and  the  new  life,  without  her 
mother,  had  commenced.  Her  tears  flowed  without  restraint, 
and  her  husband  allowed  the  emotion  to  exhaust  itself  before 
he  attempted  consolation.  But  at  last  he  took  her,  still  sob- 
bing, to  his  breast,  and  silently  upheld  her. 


A   STOKT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE. 

"  Hannah,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  wife,  how  can  I  leave  you  here 
alone,  to  these  sad  associations  ?  This  can  no  longer  be  your 
home.  Come  to  me  with  your  burden,  and  let  me  help  you 
to  bear  it." 

"  Oh,  Maxwell,"  she  answered,  "  you  are  my  help  and  my 
comfort.  No  one  else  has  the  same  right  to  share  my  sorrow. 
My  place  is  beside  you :  I  will  try  to  fill  it  as  I  ought :  but — 
Maxwell — can  I,  dare  I  enter  your  home  as  a  bride,  coming 
thus  directly  from  the  grave  of  my  mother  ?" 

"You  will  bring  her  blessing  in  the*  freshness  of  its  sanc- 
tity," he  said.  "  Understand  me,  Hannah.  In  the  reverence 
for  your  sorrow,  my  love  is  patient.  Enter  my  home,  now,  as 
the  guest  of  my  heart,  giving  me  only  the  right  to  soothe  and 
comfort,  until  you  can  hear,  without  reproach,  the  voice  of 
love." 

His  noble  consideration  for  her  grief  and  her  loneliness 
melted  Hannah's  heart.  Through  all  the  dreary  sense  of  her 
loss  penetrated  the  gratitude  of  love.  She  lifted  her  arms 
and  clasped  them  about  his  neck.  "  Take  me,  my  dear  hus- 
band," she  whispered,  "  take  me,  rebellious  as  I  have  been, 
unworthy  as  I  am,  and  teach  me  to  deserve  your  magnanimity." 

He  took  her  home  that  evening,  under  the  light  of  the  rising 
moon,  down  the  silence  of  the  valley,  through  the  gathering 
mists  of  the  meadows,  and  under  the  falling  of  the  golden 
leaves.  The  light  of  Lakeside  twinkled,  a  ruddy  star,  to  greet 
them,  and  with  its  brightening  ray  stole  into  her  heart  the 
first  presentiment  of  Woman's  Home. 


480  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

CONCERNING   THE   NEW   HOUSEHOLD    OF   LAKESIDE. 

IN  a  day  or  two  all  the  familiar  articles  of  furniture  which 
Hannah  desired  to  retain,  were  transferred  to  Lakeside  with  her 
personal  effects,  and  the  cottage  was  closed  until  a  new  ten- 
ant could  be  found.  In  the  first  combined  shock  of  grief  and 
change,  the  secluded  beauty  of  her  new  home  was  especially 
grateful.  The  influences  of  Nature,  no  less  than  the  tender  at- 
tentions of  her  husband,  and  the  quiet,  reverent  respect  of  Bute 
and  Carrie,  gradually  soothed  and  consoled  her.  Day  after 
day  the  balmy  southwest  wind  blew,  hardly  stirring  the 
smoky  purple  of  the  air,  through  which  glimmered  the  float- 
ing drifts  of  gossamer  or  the  star-like  tufts  of  wandering 
down.  The  dead  flowers  saw  their  future  resurrection  in 
these  winged,  emigrating  seeds;  the  trees  let  fall  the  loosened 
splendor  of  their  foliage,  knowing  that  other  summers  were 
sheathed  in  the  buds  left  behind  ;  even  the  sweet  grass  of  the 
meadows  bowed  its  dry  crest  submissively  over  the  green 
heart  of  its  perennial  life.  Every  object  expressed  the  infinite 
patience  of  Nature  with  her  yearly  recurring  doom.  The 
sun  himself  seemed  to  veil  his  beams  in  noonday  haze,  lest  he 
should  smite  with  too  severe  a  lustre  the  nakedness  of  the 
landscape,  as  it  slowly  put  off  its  garment  of  Itfe. 

For  years  past,  she  had  been  deprived  of  the  opportunity 
so  to  breathe  the  enchantment  of  the  heavenly  season.  As 
soon  as  the  chill  of  the  morning  dew  had  left  the  earth,  she 
went  forth  to  the  garden  and  orchard,  and  along  the  sunny 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  431 

margin  of  the  whispering  pine-wood  behind  the  house,  striving 
to  comprehend  the  change  that  had  come  over  her,  and  fit  her 
views  of  life  to  harmony  with  it.  In  the  afternoons  she  went, 
at  Woodbury's  side,  to  a  knoll  overhanging  the  lake,  whence 
the  landscape  was  broader  and  grander,  opening  northward 
beyond  the  point,  where  now  and  then  a  sail  flashed  dimly 
along  the  blue  water.  Here,  sitting  on  the  grassy  brink,  he 
told  her  of  the  wonderful  life  of  the  tropics,  of  his  early  hopes 
and  struggles,  of  the  cheating  illusions  he  had  cherished,  the 
sadder  knowledge  he  had  wrested  from  experience,  and  that 
immortal  philosophy  of  the  heart  in  which  all  things  are  recon- 
ciled. He  did*  not  directly  advert  to  his  passion  for  herself, 
but  she  felt  it  continually  as  the  basis  from  which  his  confi- 
dences grew.  He  was  a  tender,  trustful  friend,  presenting  to 
her,  leaf  by  leaf,  the  book  of  his  life.  She,  too,  gave  him 
much  of  hers  in  return.  She  found  a  melancholy  pleasure  in 
speaking  of  the  Past  to  one  who  had  a  right  to  know  it,  and 
to  whom  its  most  trifling  feature  was  not  indifferent.  Her 
childhood,  her  opening  girlhood,  her  education,  her  desire  for 
all  possible  forms  of  cultivation,  her  undeveloped  artistic  sym- 
pathies and  their  conflict  with  the  associations  which  surround- 
ed her — all  these  returned,  little  by  little,  and  her  husband  re- 
joiced to  find  in  them  fresh  confirmations  of  the  instinctive 
judgment,  on  the  strength  of  which  he  had  ventured  his 
love. 

In  the  evenings  they  generally  sat  in  the  library,  where  he 
read  to  her  from  his  choice  stores  of  literature,  and  from  the 
reading  grew  earnest  mutual  talk  which  calmed  and  refreshed 
her  mind.  The  leisure  of  his  long  years  in  India  had  not  been 
thrown  away :  he  had  developed  and  matured  his  natural 
taste  for  literature  by  the  careful  study  of  the  English  and 
French  classics,  and  was  familiar  with  the  principal  German 
and  Italian  authors,  so  far  as  they  could  be  known  through 
translations.  He  had  also  revived,  to  some  extent,  his  musty 
knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  and  his  taste  had  thus 
become  pure  and  healthy  in  proportion  to  the  variety  of  his 


432  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

acquirements.  Hannah  had,  now  and  then,  perhaps  (though 
this  is  doubtful,  in  the  circumscribed  community  of  Ptolemy), 
encountered  men  of  equal  culture,  but  none  who  had  spoken 
to  her  as  an  equal,  from  the  recognition  of  like  capacities  in 
her  own  mind.  She  saw,  in  this  intercourse  with  her  husband, 
the  commencement  of  a  new  and  inexhaustible  intellectual 
enjoyment.  That  clamor  of  her  nature  for  the  supposed  rights 
denied  to  her  sex  was,  in  part,  the  result  of  a  baffled  mental 
passion,  which  now  saw  the  coveted  satisfaction  secured  to 
it ;  and  thus  the  voice  of  her  torment  grew  weaker  day  by 
day. 

Day  by  day,  also,  with  scarce  a  spoken  word  of  love,  the 
relations  between  the  two  became  more  fond  and  intimate. 
Woodbury's  admirable  judgment  taught  him  patience.  He 
saw  the  color  gradually  coming  back  to  the  pale  leaves  of  the 
flower,  and  foresaw  the  day  when  he  might  wear  it  on  his 
bosom.  The  wind-tossed  lake  smoothed  its  surface  more  and 
more,  and  gleams  of  his  own  image  were  reflected  back  to  him 
from  the  subsiding  waves.  The  bride  glided  into  the  wife  by 
a  gentle,  natural  transition.  She  assumed  her  place  as  head 
of  the  household,  and  Carrie,  who  was  always  nervously 
anxious  under  the  weight  of  the  responsibility,  transferred  it 
gladly  to  her  hands.  The  sense  of  her  ownership  in  the  treas- 
ures of  Lakeside,  which  had  at  first  seemed  incredible,  grew 
real  by  degrees,  as  she  came  to  exercise  her  proper  authority, 
and  as  her  husband  consulted  with  her  in  regard  to  the  pro- 
posed changes  in  the  garden  and  grounds.  All  these  things 
inspired  her  with  a  new  and  delightful  interest.  The  sky  of 
her  life  brightened  as  the  horizon  grew  wider.  Her  individ- 
ual sphere  of  action  had  formerly  been  limited  on  every  side  ; 
her  tastes  had  been  necessarily  suppressed ;  and  the  hard, 
utilitarian  spirit,  from  which  she  shrank,  in  the  associations  of 
her  sect,  seemed  to  meet  her  equally  wherever  she  turned. 
Her  instinct  of  beauty  was  now  liberated ;  for  Woodbury, 
possessing  it  himself,  not  only  appreciated,  but  encouraged  its 
vitality  in  her  nature.  The  rooms  took  the  impression  of  her 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  4X3 

taste,  at  first  in  minor  details  and  then  in  general  arrange- 
ments, and  this  external  reflection  of  herself  in  the  features  of 
her  home  reacted  upon  her  feelings,  separating  her  by  a  con- 
stantly widening  gulf  from  her  maiden  life. 

The  gold  of  the  forests  corroded,  the  misty  violet  bloom  of 
the  Indian  Summer  was  washed  away  by  sharp  winds  and 
cold  rains,  and  when  winter  set  in,  the  fire  on  the  domestic 
hearth  burned  with  a  warm,  steady  flame.  Immediately  after 
the  marriage,  Woodbury  had  not  only  picked  out  a  very 
pretty  site  for  the  cottage  which  he  must  now  build  in  earnest 
for  Bute's  occupancy,  but  had  immediately  engaged  masons 
and  carpenters  to  commence  the  work.  It  was  on  a  low  knob 
or  spur  of  the  elevation  upon  which  stood  his  own  house,  but 
nearer  the  Anacreon  road.  Bute  and  Carrie  were  in  ecstasies 
with  the  design,  which  was  selected  from  "  Downing's  Land- 
scape Gardening."  It  was  a  story  and  a  half  high,  with  over- 
hanging balconies,  in  the  Swiss1  style,  and  promised  to  be  a 
picturesque  object  in  the  view  from  Lakeside,  especially  as  it 
would  just  hide  the  only  ragged  and  unlovely  spot  in  the 
landscape,  to  the  left  of  Roaring  Brook.  By  great  exertion 
on  Bute's  part,  it  was  gotten  under  roof,  and  then  left  for  a 
winter's  seasoning,  before  completion  in  the  spring.  This 
house  and  every  thing  connected  with  it  took  entire  possession 
of  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Carrie  Wilson,  and  not  a  day  passed  with- 
out her  consulting  Hannah  in  regard  to  some  internal  or 
external  arrangement.  She  would  have  flowered  chintz  cur- 
tains to  the  windows  of  the  "  best  room" — blue,  with  small 
pink  roses  :  the  stuff  would  be  cheap  and  of  course  she  would 
make  them  herself:  would  it  be  better  to  have  them  ruffled 
with  the  same,  or  an  edging  of  the  coarse  cotton  lace  which 
she  had  learned  to  knit  ?  Bute  had  promised  her  a  carpet, 
and  they  could  furnish  the  room  little  by  little,  so  that  the 
expense  would  not  be  felt.  "  We  must  economize,"  she  inva- 
riably added,  at  the  close :  "  we  are  going  to  lay  something 
by  every  year,  and  I  want  to  show  Bute  that  I  can  manage  to 
have  every  thing  nice  and  tasty,  without  spending  much." 
19 


434  HANXAH  THURSTON: 

The  little  woman  still  retained  her  admiration  for  Hannah, 
perhaps  in  an  increased  degree,  now  that  Woodbury  (for  whom 
Carrie  had  conceived  such  a  profound  respect)  had  chosen 
her  to  be  his  wife.  She  confided  to  the  latter  all  her  wonder- 
ful plans  for  the  future,  utterly  forgetful  how  they  differed 
from  the  confidences  which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  be- 
stow. Hannah  could  not  help  remarking  her  present  uncon- 
sciousness of  that  ambition  which  she  had  once  pitied  as 
mistaken,  though  she  had  not  the  heart  to  check  it.  A  similar 
change  seemed  to  be  taking  place  in  herself.  "  Is  it  always 
so  V"  she  reflected.  "Is  the  fulfilment  of  our  special  destiny 
as  women  really  the  end  of  that  lofty  part  which  we  resolved 
to  take  in  the  forward  struggle  of  the  race  ?  Was  my  desire 
to  vindicate  the  just  claims  of  my  sex  only  the  blind  result  of 
the  relinquishment  of  earlier  dreams  2,  It  cannot  be  :  but  this 
much  is  true — that  the  restless  mind  is  easily  cradled  to  sleep 
on  the  beatings  of  a  happy  heart." 

The  strict  seclusion  of  her  life  was  rarely  broken.  The 
Waldos  and  Merryfields  came  once  or  twice  for  a  brief  call,  but 
Woodbury,  though  he  went  occasionally  to  Ptolemy,  did  not 
urge  her  to  accompany  him.  Sometimes,  on  mild  days,  he 
drove  with  her  over  the  hills,  re-exploring  for  her  the  pic- 
turesque little  nooks  of  the  upland  which  he  had  discovered. 
Hannah  was  contented  with  this  ;  she  knew  that  Society 
awaited  her,  after  a  time,  but  it  could  not  now  deny  her  that 
grateful  repose,  in  which  she  gathered  strength,  and  hope,  and 
harmony  with  herself.  Indeed,  the  life  of  Ptolemy  flowed 
more  quietly  than  usual,  this  season.  The  Great  Sewing-Union 
was  not  reorganized,  because  the  Cimmerians  had  decided  on 
a  "  Donation  Party"  for  Mr.  Waldo's  benefit,  instead  of  a  Fair  ; 
the  Abolitionists  had  not  sufficient  cohesive  power  without 
the  assistance  of  Hannah  and  Mrs.  Merryfieid,  and  prepared 
their  contributions  separately  at  home;  and  thus  only  ilio 
Mission  Fund  remained.  The  latter,  however,  was  stimulated 
to  fresh  activity  by  the  arrival  of  a  package  of  letters,  early 
in  December,  from  Mrs.  Jehiel  Preeks  (formerly  Miss  Eliza 


A   STOKY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  435 

Clancy),  dated  from  Cuddapah,  in  the  Telugu  Country.  She  had 
passed  a  week  at  Jutnapore,  and  was  shocked  to  find  that  her 
brown  namesake,  for  whom  she  had  made  the  mousseline-de- 
Jaine  frock  with  tucks,  had  been  married  a  year,  although  not 
yet  fourteen,  and  exhibited  to  her  a  spiritual  grand-baby,  on 
her  arrival.  She  forwarded  to  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin  a  letter 
in  the  Telugu  language  from  her  son  Elisha,  which  the  spinster 
had  framed  and  hung  up  beside  her  looking-glass.  "  It's 
more  like  bird  tracks  than  any  thing  else,"  she  whispered,  con- 
fidentially, "  but  the  sight  of  it  gives  nte  a  deal  of  comfort." 

Thus,  the  labors  for  the  Mission  Fund  were  resumed,  but 
the  young  men  who  attended  looked  back  to  the  days  of 
the  Great  Sewing-Union  with  regret.  The  mixed  composition 
of  the  latter  had  been  its  great  charm,  and  even  the  ladies  of 
the  Fund  missed  the  extended  comparison  of  stuffs  and  pat- 
terns, and  the  wider  range  of  mantua-making  gossip  which 
they  had  enjoyed  during  the  previous  winter.  The  curiosity 
in  regard  to  the  Wood  bury s  still  continued  to  be  rife;  but 
Mrs.  Waldo,  who  was  continually  appealed  to,  as  their  nearest 
friend,  for  an  explanation  of  the  mystery,  knew  no  more  than 
any  of  the  others  what  had  passed  between  the  two  before  their 
marriage.  The  first  sharpness  of  public  comment  on  the  oc- 
currence soon  gave  place  to  a  more  just  and  reasonable  feeling. 
Both  were  popular,  in  a  different  way,  in  Ptolemy.  A  mod- 
erate amount  of  good-luck  would  not  have  been  grudged  to 
either,  but  that  they  should  find  it  in  each  other  was  the 
thought  which  astounded  the  community.  The  strangest 
things,  however,  soon  grow  common-place,  and  all  that  had 
been  said  or  thought,  in  the  first  period  of  \vonderment,  was 
gradually  forgotten.  Both  Mrs.  Styles  and  Mrs.  Hamilton 
Bue  called  at  Lakeside,  and  went  home  well  pleased  with  the 
kindly  courtesy  and  hospitality  which  they  received.  They 
saw  that  the  husband  and  wife  evidently  understood  each  other 
and  were  happy  in  the  knowledge :  any  thing  further  than 
this  the  keenest  scrutiny  failed  to  discover.  Woodbury  had 
the  coolness  of  a  thorough  man  of  the  world  in  turning  aside 


436  HANNAH    TIITTRSTON  I 

impertinent  questions,  such  as  many  good  persons,  with  their4 
unformed  American  ideas  of  propriety,  see  no  harm  in  asking. 
It  is  true  that  he  sometimes  gave  offence  in  this  way,  but  his 
apparent  unconsciousness  of  the  fact  healed  the  wound,  while 
it  prevented  a  repetition  of  the  impertinence. 

Hannah  admired  the  self-possession  of  her  husband,  as  a 
power,  the  attainment  of  which  was  beyond  her  own  reach. 
The  characteristic  which  had  most  repelled  her,  on  their  first 
acquaintance,  was  now  that  which  threw  around  her  a  comfort- 
ing sense  of  protection  and  defence.  It  was  not  a  callous  con- 
dition of  his  finer  sensibilities,  she  saw ;  it  was  a  part  of  his 
matured  balance  and  repose  of  character,  yet  the  latter  still 
sometimes  impressed  her  almost  like  coldness,  in  comparison 
Avith  her  own  warmth  of  sentiment.  For  this  reason,  perhaps, 
as  her  love  to  him  deepened  and  strengthened — as  his  being 
became  more  and  more  a  blissful  necessity — his  composed,  un- 
changing tenderness  often  failed  to  satisfy,  in  full  measure, 
the  yearnings  of  her  heart.  While  she  was  growing  in  the 
richness  of  her  affections,  he  seemed  to  be  standing  still. 

With  all  Woodbury's  experience  of  woman,  he  had  yet 
much  to  learn.  No  course  could  have  been  better  chosen  than 
the  delicate  and  generous  consideration  which  he  exhibited 
towards  his  wife,  up  to  a  certain  point.  His  mistake  was,  that 
he  continued  it  long  after  the  necessity  had  ceased,  and  when, 
to  hei'  changed  nature,  it  suggested  a  conscientious  sense  of 
justice  rather  than  the  watchfulness  of  love.  He  was  waiting 
for  her  heart  to  reach  the  knowledge  which  already  filled  it  to 
overflowing,  betraying  itself  daily  by  a  subtle  language  which 
he  did  not  understand.  The  experiences  through  which  he 
had  passed  had  familiarized  him  with  the  presence  of  passion 
in  himself:  his  heart  did  not  throb  less  powerfully,  but  it 
throbbed  beneath  a  mask  of  calmness  which  had  been  sternly 
enforced  upon  him.  He  did  not  reflect  that  his  wife,  with  all€ 
the  pervading  passion  of  the  ripened  woman,  still  possessed, 
in  this  her  first  love,  the  timidity  of  a  girl,  and  could  not  ask 
for  that  independent  speech  of  the  heart  which  he  withheld. 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  437 

Even  with  regard  to  the  questions  which  had  so  nearly  "kept 
them  asunder,  she  would  have  preferred  frank  discussion  to 
silence.  Here,  however,  he  had  promised  her  full  liberty  of 
action,  and  she  could  not  refer  to  them  without  a  seeming 
doubt  of  his  word.  Once  or  twice,  indeed  she  timidly  ap- 
proached the  subject,  but  he  had  avoided  it  with  a  gentleness 
and  kindness  which  she  could  not  resist.  She  suffered  no  re- 
proach to  rest  upon  him,  in  her  inmost  thought ;  she  reproached 
herself  for  having  invoked  the  promise — for  having  obliged 
him  to  raise  the  thin,  impalpable  screen  which  still  interposed 
itself  between  their  hearts.  Mrs.  Styles,  in  reporting  her 
visit,  had  said :  "  they  look  as  if  they  had  already  been  mar- 
ried ten  years,"  and  she  had  said  truly.  That  calm,  which 
was  so  grateful  in  the  first  tumult  of  the  wife's  feelings,  which 
enabled  her  to  pass  through  the  transition  of  her  nature  in. 
peace,  now  sometimes  became  oppressive  in  the  rush  of 
happy  emotions  that  sought  but  knew  not  how  to  find  expres- 
sion. 

The  knowledge  that  Woodbury  had  modified  his  personal 
habits  so  as  to  avoid  offending  her  prejudices,  also  gave  her 
pain.  She  learned,  from  Carrie,  that  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  drinking  a  glass  or  two  of  claret  at  dinner,  and  of  smoking 
in  the  library  after  meals,  or  as  he  read  in  the  evenings.  Now, 
the  wine  had  disappeared  from  the  table,  and  he  took  his  cigar 
in  the  garden,  or  in  the  veranda.  Both  the  habits  were  still 
repugnant  to  her  sense  of  right,  but  love  was  beginning  to 
teach  her  tolerance.  He  was,  perhaps,  partly  weaned  from 
them,  she  thought,  and  in  that  case  it  would  be  wrong  in  her 
to  lead  him  back  to  his  old  subjection;  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 
what  sacrifice  had  he  not  made  for  her?  and  what  had  she 
made  for  him? 

Towards  the  end  of  winter,  she  found  that  her  mind  was 
becoming  singularly  confused  and  uncertain.  The  recon- 
ciliation with  her  destiny,  the  harmony  of  heart  and  brain, 
which  si ie  seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  attaining,  slid  back 
again  into  something  which  appeared  to  be  a  disturbance  of 


438  HANNAH    THUESTON  : 

temperament  rather  than  of  intellect.  Things,  trifling  in 
themselves,  exalted  or  depressed  her  without  any  apparent 
reason;  unreasonable  desires  presented  themselves  to  her 
mind,  and  in  this  perpetual  wavering  of  'the  balance  of  her 
nature,  nothing  seemed  steady  except  her  love  for  her  hus- 
band. She  longed,  at  times,  to  throw  herself  upon  his  breast 
and  weep  the  confession  she  did  not  dare  to  speak;  but  her 
moments  of  strength  perversely  carne  when  he  was  absent,  and 
her  moments  of  cowardice  when  he  was  present.  Through 
all  the  uncertain,  shifting  range  of  her  sensations,  ran,  never- 
theless, a  dazzling  thread  of  some  vague,  foreboded  bliss,  the 
features  of  which  she  could  not  distinguish.  She  often  re- 
peated to  herself  the  song  of  Cliirchen,  in  Goethe's  "  Egmont," 
which  was  among  the  works  her  husband  had  read  with  her : 


Depressed, 

Pensively  brooding  amain ; 

Trembling, 

Dissembling, 

Hovering  in  fear  and  in  pain : 

Sorrowing  to  death,  or  exulting  the  angels  above, 

Blessed  alone  is  the  heart  in  its  love!" 

One  afternoon  she  was  seized  with  such  an  intense  longing 
for  the  smell  of  tobacco-smoke,  that  she  could  scarcely  wait 
until   Woodbury,    who  had   ridden  into   Ptolemy,   returned 
home.      As    soon   as   he   had   taken   off   his   great-coat   and 
kissed  her,  as  was  his  wont,  she  drew  him  into  the  library. 
"Maxwell,"  she  said,  " I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 
"  Have  you  ?     I  shall  be  delighted  to  grant  it." 
"You    will    think   it   strange,"    she   continued,   blushing: 
"  I  wish  you  would  light  a  cigar ;   I  think  I  should  find  the 
smoke  agreeable." 

"  That  is  not  asking  a  favor,  Hannah  ;    it  is  granting  one  to 

me.     I'll  take  one  of  my  best,  and  you  shall  have  a  fair  trial." 

He  laughed  pleasantly  at  what  he  considered  a  benevolent 

effort  on  her  part  to   endure   his   favorite   indulgence.      He 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  439 

placed  easy-chairs  for  them,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  fire,  lest 
her  experiment  might  fail  from  being  overdone,  and  lighted 
one  of  his  choicest  Cabanas.  The  rich,  delicate,  sedative 
odor  soon  pervaded  the  air,  but  she  held  her  ground.  He  took 
down  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  one  of  his  favorites,  and  read  aloud 
the  pleasant  passages.  The  snowy  ashes  lengthened  in  the 
cigar,  the  flavor  of  the  book  grew  more  choice  and  ripe,  and 
after  an  hour  he  tossed  the  diminutive  remaining  end  into  the 
grate,  saying: 

"  Well,  what  is  the  result  ?" 

"I  quite  forgot  the  cigar,  Maxwell,**  she  answered,  "in  my 
enjoyment  of  Sir  Thomas.  But  the  odor  at  first — you  will 
laugh  at  me — was  delightful.  I  am  so  sorry  that  you  have 
been  so  long  deprived  of  what  must  be  to  you  an  agreeable 
habit,  on  my  account." 

"I  have  only  been  acting  up  to  my  principles,"  he  said, 
"  that  we  have  a  right  to  exercise  our  individual  freedom  in 
such  matters,  when  they  do  not  interfere  directly  with  the 
comfort  of  others.  But  here,  1  am  afraid,  Sir  Thomas  helped 
to  neutralize  your  repugnance.  Shall  we  go  on  with  him,  a 
chapter  and  a  cigar  at  a  time?  Afterwards  I  can  take 
Burton  and  Montaigne,  if  you  are  not  fully  acclimated." 

He  spoke  gayly,  with  a  dancing  light  in  his  eyes,  but  the 
plan  was  seriously  carried  out.  Hannah  was  surprised  to  find 
in  Montaigne  a  reference  to  the  modern  doctrine  (as  she  sup- 
posed it  to  be)  of  "  Women's  Rights."  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
reflection  that  the  cause  had  made  so  little  progress  in  three 
centuries.  The  reading  of  this  passage  brought  up  the  subject 
in  a  natural  way,  and  she  could  not  help  remarking : 

"Discussions  on  the  subject  will  never  come  to  an  end, 
until  we  have  some  practical  application  of  the  theory,  which 
will  be  an  actual  and  satisfactory  test  of  its  truth." 

"I,  for  one,  would  not  object  to  that,"  Woodbury  answered, 
"provided  it  could  be  tried  without  disturbing  too  much  the 
established  order  of  Society.  If  a  large  class  of  women 
should  at  any  time  demand  these  rights,  a  refusal  to  let  the 


440  HANNAH   TIIUESTON  : 

experiment  be  tested  would  imply  a  fear  of  its  success.  N"ow, 
I  do  not  believe  that  any  system  can  be  successful  which  does 
not  contain  a  large  proportion  of  absolute  truth,  and  while  I 
cannot  think,  as  you  know,  that  woman  is  fitted  for  the  same 
career  as  man,  I  am  not  afraid  to  see  her  make  the  trial.  I 
will  pledge  myself  to  abide  by  the  result." 

"  If  all  men  were  as  just,  Maxwell,  we  should  have  no  cause 
to  complain*  After  all,  it  is  the  right  to  try,  rather  than  the 
right  to  be,  which  we  ask.  The  refusal  to  grant  us  that  does 
not  seem  either  like  the  magnanimity  of  the  stronger,  or  even 
an  assured  faith  in  his  strength." 

"Men  do  not  seriously  consider  the  subject,"  said  he. 
"The  simple  instinct  of  sex  dictates  their  opposition.  They 
attribute  to  a  distorted,  unfeminine  ambition,  what  is  often — 
in'  you,  Hannah,  I  know  it — a  pure  and  unselfish  aspiration. 
The  basis  of  instinct  is  generally  correct,  but  it  does  not  ab- 
solve us  from  respect  for  the  sincerity  of  that  which  assails  it." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  as  just  to  you,  in  return  !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  feel  that  my  knowledge  has  been  limited — that  I  have  been 
self-boastful  of  the  light  granted  to  my  mind,  when  it  was 
only  groping  in  twilight,  towards  the  dawn.  My  heart  drew 
back  from  you,  because  it  feared  a  clashing  of  opinions  which 
could  never  harmonize. 

She  was  on  the  verge  of  a  tenderer  confession,  but  he  did 
not  perceive  it.  His  words,  unwittingly,  interrupted  the  cur- 
rent of  her  feelings.  IJis  voice  was  unintentionally  grave  and 
his  brow  earnest,  as  he  said:  "I  trust,  more  than  ever,  to  the 
true  woman's  nature  in  you,  Hannah.  Let  me  say  one  thing 
to  set  your  mind  at  rest  forever.  It  was  my  profound  appre- 
ciation of  those  very  elements  in  your  character  which  led  you 
to  take  up  these  claims  of  Woman  and  make  them  your  own, 
that  opened  the  way  for  you  to  my  heart.  I  reverence  the 
qualities  without  accepting  all  the  conclusions  born  of  them. 
I  thank  God  that  I  was  superior  to  shallow  prejudice,  which 
would  have  hindered  me  from  approaching  you,  and  thus  have 
lost  me  the  blessing  of  mv  life !" 


A   STOEY    OF   AMEEICAN  LIFE.  441 

He  rose  and  laid  away  the  book.  Every  word  he  had  said 
was  just  and  noble,  but  it  was  not  the  fervid,  impassioned 
utterance  which  her  heart  craved  to  hear.  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes,  but  he  misinterpreted  them. 

Ah,  the  "  true  woman's  nature !"  Did  hex  trust  to  it  ?  Did 
he  know  it,  in  its  timidity,  in  its  exacting  fondness,  in  its  pride 
of  devotion  and  its  joy  of  sacrifice  ? 

Not  yet. 
19* 


442  HANNAH  THURSTON: 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

IN    WHICH   WE   ATTEND    ANOTHER   MEETING   IN  FAVOR    OP 

"  WOMEN'S  RIGHTS." 

EARLY  in  April,  Mr.  Isaiah  Bemis  again  made  his  appearance 
in  Ptolemy.  He  had  adopted  REFORM  as  his  profession,  and 
in  the  course  of  fifteen  years'  practice  had  become  a  Jack-of- 
all-trades  in  philanthropy  and  morals.  He  was  ready,  at  the 
shortest  notice,  to  give  an  address  on  Total  Abstinence,  Vege- 
tarianism (or  "  Vegetality,"  as  he  termed  it,  with  a  desire  to 
be  original),  Slavery,  Women's  Rights,  or  Non-Resistance,  ac- 
cording to  the  particular  need  of  the  community  he  visited. 

He  also  preached,  occasionally,  before  those  independent 
religious  bodies  which  spring  up  now  and  then  in  a  spasmodic 
protest  against  church  organization,  and  which  are  the  natural 
complement  of  the  Perfectionists  in  Government  and  Society, 
who  believe  that  the  race  is  better  off  without  either.  In 
regard  to  Spiritualism  he  was  still  undecided :  it  was  not  yet 
ingrafted  upon  the  trunk  of  the  other  Reforms  as  an  accepted 
branch  of  the  same  mighty  tree,  and  a  premature  adherence 
to  it  might  loosen  his  hold  on  those  boughs  from  which  he 
sucked  sustenance,  fame,  and  authority. 

By  slender  contributions  from  the  Executive  Committees  of 
the  various  Societies,  and  the  free  hospitality  of  the  proselytes 
of  one  or  the  other,  all  through  the  country,  Mr.  Bemis  was 
in  the  possession  of  a  tolerable  income,  which  came  to  him 
through  the  simple  gratification  of  his  natural  tendencies.  To 
harangue  the  public  was  a  necessity  rather  than  a  fatigue. 
He  was  well  stored  with  superficial  logic  wherewith  to  over- 
whelm ordinary  disputants,  while  with  his  hosts,  from  whom 
no  opposition  was  to  be  expected,  he  assumed  an  air  of  arro- 


A   STORY    OP   AMERICAN  LIFE.  443 

gant  superiority.  This  was  principally  their  own  fault.  A 
man  who  hears  himself  habitually  called  an  Apostle  and  a 
Martyr,  very  soon  learns  to  put  on  his  robes  of  saintship. 
None  of  his  subjects  was  bold  enough  to  dispute  the  intel- 
lectual and  moral  autocracy  which  he  assumed.  Thus,  for  fif- 
teen years,  a  Moral  Gypsy,  he  had  led  a  roving  life  through  the 
country,  from  Maine  to  Indiana,  interrupted  only  by  a  trip  to 
England,  in  1841,  as  a  "delegate  at  large"  to  the  "World's 
Anti-Slavery  Convention."  During  all  this  time  his  wife  had 
supported  herself  by  keeping  a  boarding-house  in  a  small  town 
in  New  Jersey.  He  was  accustomed  to  visit  her  once  a  year, 
and  at  such  times  scrupulously  paid  his  board  during  the  few 
weeks  of  his  stay — which  circumstance  was  exploited  as  an 
illustration  of  his  strict  sense  of  justice  and  his  constancy  to 
the  doctrine  of  Women's  Rights. 

Central  New  York  was  a  favorite  field  for  Mr.  Bemis,  and 
he  ranged  its  productive  surface  annually.  His  meetings  being 
announced  in  advance  in  the  Annihilator,  his  friends  were 
accustomed  to  have  all  the  arrangements  made  on  his  arrival. 
On  reaching  Ptolemy,  however,  two  or  three  days  still  inter- 
vened before  the  meeting  could  be  held,  on  account  of  Tuna 
blety  Hall  having  been  previously  engaged  by  the  "  Mozart 
Ethiopian  Opera,"  and  the  "  ApalachicoLm  Singers,"  Mr. 
Bemis,  as  a  matter  of  course,  claimed  the  hospitality  of  the 
Merryfields  in  the  interval.  He  was  not  received  with  the 
expected  empressement,  nor  were  his  Orphic  utterances  listened 
to  with  the  reverence  to  which  he  was  used.  The  other 
friends  of  the  cause — foremost  among  them  Seth  Wattles — 
nevertheless  paid  their  court  as  soon  as  his  arrival  became 
known,  and  (spiritually)  on  bended  knees  kissed  the  hand  of 
the  master. 

The  arrangements  for  the  coming  meeting  were  first  to  be 
discussed.  Attention  had  been  drawn  away  from  the  reform 
during  the  previous  summer  by  the  renewed  agitation  ia  favor 
of  Temperance,  and  it  was  desirable  to  renovate  th  j  faded 
impression.  The  Rev.  Amelia  Parkes  had  been  invited, 


44  1  HANNAH   THUKSTON  : 

but  was  unable  to  leave  her  congregation  ;  and  Bessie  Stryker 
was  more  profitably  engaged  in  lecturing  before  various 
literary  associations,  at  one  hundred  dollars  a  night  (pnyable 
only  iii  gold).  Mr.  Chubbuck,  of  Miranda,  could  be  depended 
upon,  but  lie  was  only  a  star  of  the  second  magnitude,  and 
something  more  was  absolutely  required. 

"  We  must  get  Miss  Thurston — I  mean  Mrs.  Woodbury — 
again.  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done,"  remarked  Mr. 
Bemis,  drawing  down  his  brows.  He  had  not  forgotten  that 
the  people  of  Ptolemy  had  freely  given  to  her  the  applause 
which  they  had  withheld  from  his  more  vigorous  oratory. 

"  I  rather  doubt,  as  it  were,"  said  Mr.  Merryfield,  "  whether 
Hannah  will  be  willing  to  speak." 

"Why  not?"  thundered  Bemis. 

"She's  lived  very  quietly  since  her  marriage,  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  she'd  changed  her  notions  somewhat." 

"jT  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Seth,  drawing  up  his  thick 
nostrils,  "if  her  husband  had  forbidden  her  ever  to  speak 
again.  If  he  could  bully  her  into  marrying  him,  he  could  do 
that,  too." 

"  You're  mistaken,  Seth,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Merryfield,  color- 
ing with  a  mild  indignation,  "  there's  nothing  of  the  bully 
about  Woodbury.  And  if  they  two  don't  love  each  other 
sincerely,  why,  Sarah  and  me  don't !" 

"  We  can  easily  find  out  all  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Bemis, 
rising  and  buttoning  his  coat  over  his  broad  chest.  "Mr. 
Wattles,  will  you  come  with  me  ?  We  will  constitute  our- 
selves a  Committee  of  Invitation." 

Seth,  nothing  loath,  put  on  his  hat,  and  the  two  started  on 
their  errand.  It  was  but  a  short  walk  to  Lakeside,  which 
they  reached  soon  after  Woodbury  had  taken  his  customary 
place  in  the  library,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  and  a  volume 
of  Pepys'  Diary  in  his  hand.  Hannah  sat  near  him,  quiet  and 
happy :  she  was  not  only  reconciled  to  her  husband's  habit, 
but  enjoyed  the  book  and  talk  which  accompanied  it  more 
than  any  other  part  of  the  day.  On  this  occasion  they  were 


A   STOEY   OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  445 

interrupted  by  Bute,  who  announced  the  visitors  in  the  fol- 
lowing style : 

"Miss'  Woodbury,  here's  Seth  Wattles  and  another  man 
has  come  to  see  you." 

Hannah  rose  with  a  look  of  disappointment,  and  turned 
towards  her  husband,  hesitatingly. 

"  Shall  I  go,  also  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  would  prefer  it,  Maxwell;  I  have  no  private  business 
with  any  one." 

Bute  had  ushered  the  visitors  into  the  tea-room.  The  door 
to  the  library  was  closed,  but  a  faint  Cuban  perfume  was  per- 
ceptible. Seth  turned  towards  Mr.  Bemis  with  elevated  eye- 
brows, and  gave  a  loud  sniff,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Do  you 
notice  that  ?"  The  latter  gentleman  scowled  and  shook  his 
head,  but  said  nothing. 

Presently  the  door  opened  and  Hannah  made  her  appearance, 
followed  by  her  husband.  She  concealed  whatever  embarrass- 
ment she  may  have  felt  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Bemis,  frankly 
gave  him  her  hand,  and  introduced  him  to  her  husband. 

"Be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said  the  latter,  courteously.  "I 
would  ask  you  into  the  library,  but  I  have  been  smoking  there, 
and  the  room  may  not  be  agreeable  to  you." 

"Hem!  we  are  not — exactly — accustomed  to  such  an  at- 
mosphere," said  Mr.  Bemis,  taking  a  chair. 

Woodbury  began  talking  upon  general  topics,  to  allow  his 
guests  time  to  recover  from  a  slight  awkwardness  which  was 
evident  in  their  manner.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before 
Mr.  Bemis  broached  the  purpose  of  his  visit.  "  Mrs.  Wood- 
bury,"  said  he,  "  you  have  heard  that  we  are  to  have  a  meet- 
ing on  Wednesday  evening?" 

"Yes." 

*'  We  have  been  disappointed  in  getting  the  Rev.  Amelia 
Parkes,  and  the  advocacy  of  The  Cause  is  incomplete  unless  a 
woman  takes  part  in  it.  I  have  therefore  come  to  ask  your 
assistance.  We  wish,  this  time,  to  create  an  impression." 

It  was  not  a  welcome  message.     She  knew  that  such  a  test 


446  HANNAH   THUKSTON : 

must  come,  some  time ;  but  of  late  she  had  been  unable  to 
apply  her  mind  steadily  to  any  subject,  and  had  postponed, 
by  an  agreement  with  herself,  the  consideration  of  all  disturb- 
ing questions.  She  looked  at  her  husband,  but  his  calm  face 
expressed  no  counsel.  He  was  determined  that  she  should 
act  independently,  and  he  would  allow  no  word  or  glance  to 
influence  her  decision. 

"  It  is  long  since  I  have  spoken,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  should  be  of  service."  She  wished  to  gain 
time  by  an  undecided  answer,  still  hoping  that  Woodbury 
would  come  to  her  assistance. 

"  We  are  the  best  judges  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Bemis,  with 
something  of  his  old  dictatorial  tone.  "  I  trust  you  will  not 
fail  us,  now  when  we  have  such  need.  The  interest  in  The 
Cause  has  very  much  fallen  off,  in  this  neighborhood,  and  if 
you  desert  us,  to  whom  shall  we  look  for  help?" 

"Yes,  Hannah,"  chimed  in  Seth,  "you  know  we  have 
always  looked  upon  you  as  one  of  the  Pillars  of  Progress." 

It  grated  rather  harshly  upon  Woodbury's  feelings  to  hear 
his  wife  addressed  so  familiarly  by  the  ambitious  tailor ;  but 
she  was  accustomed  to  it,  from  the  practice  of  her  sect  to 
bear  testimony  against  what  they  call  "  compliments." 

"  I  have  not  lost  my  interest  in  the  cause,"  Hannah  answered, 
after  another  vain  attempt  to  read  Woodbury's  face ;  "  but  I 
have  freely  uttered  my  thoughts  on  the  subject,  and  I  could 
say  nothing  that  has  not  been  already  heard." 

"Nothing  else  is  wanted,"  said  Mr.  Bemis,  eagerly.  "The 
Truth  only  gains  by  repetition ;  it  still  remains  eternally  new. 
How  many  thousand  times  have  the  same  Bible  texts  been 
preached  from,  and  yet  their  meaning  is  not  exhausted — it  is 
not  even  fully  comprehended.  How  much  of  the  speaker's 
discourse  do  you  suppose  the  hearers  carry  home  with  them  ? 
Not  a  tenth  part — and  even  that  tenth  part  must  be  repeated 
ten  times  before  it  penetrates  beneath  the  surface  of  their 
natures.  Truth  is  a  nail  that  you  cannot  drive  into  ordinary 
comprehensions  with  one  blow  of  the  hammer :  you  must  pile 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  447 

stroke  upon  stroke,  before  it  enters  far  enough  to  be  clinched 
fast.  It  is  not  the  time  for  you  to  draw  back  now,  in  a  season 
of  faint-heartedness  and  disc9uragement.  If  you  fail,  it  will 
be  said  that  your  views  have  changed  with  the  change  in 
your  life,  and  you  will  thus  neutralize  all  your  labors  hereto- 
fore." 

"  That  cannot  be  said  of  me !"  exclaimed  Hannah,  thor- 
oughly aroused  and  indignant.  "  My  husband  has  been  too 
just — too  generous,  differing  with  me  as  he  does — to  impose 
any  restrictions  upon  my  action  !"  She  turned  towards  him. 
He  answered  her  glance  with  a  frank,  kindly  smile,  which 
thanked  her  for  her  words,  but  said  no  more.  "  Well,  then !" 
she  continued;  "I  will  come,  if  only  to  save  him  from  an 
unjust  suspicion.  I  will  not  promise  to  say  much.  You  over- 
estimate my  value  as  an  advocate  of  the  reform." 

"  It  is  not  for  me,"  said  Mr.  Bemis,  with  affected  humility, 
"  to  speak  of  what  I  have  done;  but  I  consider  myself  com- 
petent to  judge  of  the  services  of  others.  Your  influence  will 
be  vastly  increased  when  your  consistency  to  The  Cause  shall 
be  known  and  appreciated.  I  now  have  great  hopes  that  we 
shall  inaugurate  an  earnest  moral  awakening." 

Little  more  was  said  upon  the  subject,  and  in  a  short  time 
the  two  reformers  took  their  leave.  After  Woodbury  had 
returned  from  the  door,  whither  he  had  politely  accompanied 
them,  he  said,  in  his  usual  cheerful  tone:  "Well,  Hannah, 
shall  we  return  to  Old  Pepys  ?" 

Her  momentary  excitement  had  already  died  away.  She 
appeared  perplexed  and  restless,  but  she  mechanically  rose  and 
followed  him  into  the  library.  As  he  took  up  the  book,  she 
interrupted  him :  "  Tell  me,  Maxwell,  have  I  done  right  ?" 

"You  should  know,  Hannah,"  he  answered.  "I  wish  you 
to  act  entirely  as  your  own  nature  shall  prompt,  without 
reference  to  me.  I  saw  that  you  had  not  much  desire  to 
accept  the  invitation,  but,  having  accepted  it,  I  suppose  you 
must  fulfil  your  promise." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  ;  but  her  tone  was  weary  and 


448  HANNAH   THUKSTON  I 

disappointed.  How  gladly  would  she  have  yielded  to  his 
slightest  wish,  if  he  would  only  speak  it!  What  a  sweet 
comfort  it  would  have  been  to  her  heart,  to  know  that  she 
had  sacrificed  something  belonging  to  herself,  even  were  it 
that  higher  duty  which  had  almost  become  a  portion  of  her 
conscience,  for  his  sake !  The  independence  which  he,  with 
an  over-considerate  love,  had  assured  to  her,  seemed  to  isolate 
her  nature  when  it  should  draw  nearer  to  his.  His  perfect 
justice  crushed  her  with  a  cold,  unyielding  weight  of— not 
obligation,  for  that  cannot  coexist  with  love — but  something 
almost  as  oppressive.  She  had  secured  her  freedom  from 
man's  dictation — that  freedom  which  once  had  seemed  so  rare 
and  so  beautiful — and  now  her  heart  cried  aloud  for  one  word 
of  authority.  It  would  be  so  easy  to  yield,  so  blissful  to 
be  able  to  say:  "Maxwell,  I  do  this  willingly,  for  your 
sake !" — but  he  cruelly  hid  the  very  shadow  of  his  wish  from 
her  sight  and  denied  her  the  sacrifice!  He  forced  her  in- 
dependence back  upon  her  when  she  would  have  laid  it  down, 
trusting  all  she  was  and  all  she  might  be  to  the  proved  nobility 
of  his  nature !  Self-abnegation,  she  now  felt,  is  the  heart  of 
love ;  but  the  rising  flood  of  her  being  was  stayed  by  the 
barriers  which  she  had  herself  raised. 

All  the  next  day  her  uneasiness  increased.  It  was  not  only 
her  instinctive  fear  of  thwarting  her  husband's  hidden  desire 
which  tormented  her,  but  a  singular  dread  of  again  making 
her  appearance  before  the  public.  She  was  not  conscious  of 
any  change  in  her  views  on  the  question  of  Woman,  but  they 
failed  to  give  her  strength  and  courage.  A  terrible  sinking 
of  the  heart  assailed  her  as  often  as  she  tried  to  collect  her 
thoughts  and  arrange  the  expected  discourse  in  her  mind. 
Every  thing  seemed  to  shift  and  slide  before  the  phantasm  of 
her  inexplicable  fear.  Woodbury  could  not  help  noticing  her 
agitation,  but  he  understood  neither  its  origin  nor  its  nature. 
He  was  tender  as  ever,  and  strove  to  soothe  her  without  ad- 
verting to  the  coming  task.  It  was  the  only  unhappy  day  .she 
had  known  since  she  had  come  to  Lakeside. 


A    STOEY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  449 

The  next  morning  dawned — the  morning  of  Wednesday — 
and  noon  came  swiftly  as  a  flash,  since  she  dreaded  its  ap- 
proach.* The  dinner  had  been  ordered  earlier  than  usual,  foi 
the  meeting  was  to  commence  at  two  o'clock;  and  as  soon  as 
it  was  over,  Woodbury  said  to  her :  "  It  is  time  you  were 
ready,  Hannah.  I  will  take  you  to  Ptolemy,  of  course,  and 
will  attend  the  meeting,  or  not,  as  you  desire." 

She  drew  him  into  the  library.  "  Oh,  Maxwell !"  she  cried ; 
"  will  you  not  tell  me  what  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"  My  dear  wife,"  he  said,  "  do  not  torment  yourself  on 
my  account.  I  have  tried  to  fulfil  to  the  utmost  my  promise 
to  you  :  have  I  said  or  done  any  thing  to  make  you  suspect 
my  sincerity  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing  !  You  have  kept  it  only  too  well. 
But,  Maxwell,  my  heart  fails  me :  I  cannot  go !  the  very 
thought  of  standing  where  I  once  stood  makes  me  grow  faint. 
I  have  no  courage,  to  do  it  again." 

"  Then  do  not,"  he  answered ;  "  T  will  make  a  suitable 
apology  for  your  failure.  Or,  if  that  is  not  enough,  shall  I 
take  your  place?  I  will  not  promise,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"  to  go  quite  so  far  as  you  might  have  done,  but  I  will  at  least 
say  a  few  earnest  words  which  can  do  no  harm.  Who  has  so 
good  a  right  to  be  your  substitute  as  your  husband  ?" 

"Maxwell,"  she  sobbed,  "how  you  put  me  to  shame!"  It 
was  all  she  could  say.  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her 
tenderly,  and  then  drove  into  Ptolemy. 

Tumblety  Hall  was  crowded.  The  few  advocates  of  the 
cause  had  taken  good  care  to  spread  the  news  that  Mrs. 
Woodbury  was  to  be  one  of  the  speakers,  and  there  was  a 
general,  though  indefinite  curiosity  to  hear  her  again,  now  that 
she  was  married.  Mr.  Bemis  rubbed  his  hands  as  he  saw  how 
rnpidly  the  benches  were  filling,  and  observed  to  Seth  Wat- 
tles: "The  iron  is  hot,  and  we  have  only  to  strike  hard."  After 
the  audience  had  assembled,  the  latter  was  chosen  Chairman  of 
the  meeting,  Mr.  Merryfield  declining,  on  account  of  his  having 
so  frequently  filled  that  office,  "as  it  were." 


450  HANNAH  THUKSTON: 

Seth  called  the  meeting  to  order  with  a  pompous,  satisfied 
air.  His  phrases  were  especially  grandiloquent ;  for,  like 
many  semi-intelligent  persons,  he  supposed  that  the  r5£>wer  of 
oratory  depended  on  the  sound  of  the  words.  If  the  latter 
were  not  always  exactly  in  the  right  place,  it  made  little  dif- 
ference. "  Be  ye  convinced,  my  brethren,"  he  concluded, 
"  that  absoloot  Right  will  conquer,  in  spite  of  the  concatena- 
tions and  the  hostile  discrepancies  of  Urrur  (Error) !  Our 
opponents  have  attempted  to  shut  up  every  door,  every  vein 
and  artery,  and  every  ramification  of  our  reform,  but  the  angel* 
of  Progress  bursts  the  prison-doors  of  Paul  and  Silas,  and 
when  the  morning  dawns,  the  volcano  is  extinct !" 

Mr.  Bemis  followed,  in  what  he  called  his  "  sledge-hammer 
style,"  which  really  suggested  a  large  hammer,  so  far  as  voice 
and  gesture  were  concerned,  but  the  blows  did  not  seem  to 
make  much  impression.  He  had,  however,  procured  a  few 
new  anecdotes,  both  of  the  wrongs  and  the  capacities  of  wo- 
man, and  these  prevented  his  harangue  from  being  tedious  to 
the  audience.  They  were  stepping-stones,  upon  which  the 
latter  could  wade  through  the  rushing  and  turbid  flood  of  his 
discourse. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Hannah  should  follow  him,  and 
M.r.  Chubbuck,  of  Miranda,  close  the  performance.  When, 
therefore,  Mr.  Bemis  sat  down,  he  looked  around  for  his  suc- 
cessor, and  the,  audience  began  to  stir  and  buzz,  in  eager 
expectation.  She  was  not  upon  the  platform,  but  Woodbury 
was  seen,  pressing  down  the  crowded  side-aisle,  apparently 
endeavoring  to  make  his  way  to  the  steps.  He  finally. reached 
them  and  mounted  upon  the  platform,  where  a  whispered 
consultation  took  place  between  himself  and  Mr.  Bemis.  The 
countenance  of  the  latter  gentleman  grew  dark,  and  he  in  turn 
whispered  to  Seth,  who,  after  some  hesitation,  arose  and 
addressed  the  meeting : 

"We  have  again  an  illustration,"  he  said,  "  of  the  vanity  of 
human  wishes.  We  expected  to  present  to  you  the  illustrious 
prototype  of  her  sex,  to  whose  cerulean  accents  you  have  often 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  451 

listened  and  applauded,  but  disappointment  has  chilled  the 
genial  current  of  our  souls.  She  has  sent  a  subsidy  in  her 
place,  and  he  is  prepared  to  await  your  pleasure,  if  you  will 
hear  the  spontaneous  vindication." 

A  movement  of  surprise  ran  through  the  audience,  but 
their  disappointment  at  once  gave  place  to  a  new  curiosity, 
and  a  noise  of  stamping  arose,  in  token  of  satisfaction.  Wood- 
bury,  whose  demeanor  was  perfectly  serious  and  collected,  in 
spite  of  a  strong  tendency  to  laugh  at  Seth,  stepped  forward 
to  the  front  of  the  platform,  and,  as  soon  as  silence  returned, 
began  to  speak.  His  manner  was  fcasy  and  natural,  and  his 
voice  unusually  clear  and  distinct,  though  the  correctness  6f 
his  pronunciation  struck  his  hearers,  at  first,  like  aifectation. 

"  I  appear  voluntarily  before  you,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "  as 
a  substitute  for  one  whom  you  know.  She  had  promised  to 
speak  to  you  on  a  subject  to  which  she  has  given  much  earn- 
est thought,  not  so  much  for  her  own  sake  as  for  that  of  her 
sex.  Being  unable  to  fulfil  that  promise,  I  have  offered  to 
take  her  place, — not  as  the  representative  of  her  views,  or  of 
the  views  of  any  particular  association  of  persons,  but  as  a 
man  who  reveres  woman,  and  who  owes  her  respect  in  all 
cases,  though  he  may  not  always  agree  with  her  assertion  of 
right.  ('Good!'  cried  some  one  in  the  audience*.}  I  stand 
between  both  parties  ;  between  you  who  denounce  the  tyranny 
of  man  (turning  to  Mr.  Bemis),  and  you  who  meet  with  con- 
tempt and  abuse  (turning  back  towards  the  audience)  all  earn- 
est appeals  of  woman  for  a  freer  exercise  of  her  natural  facul- 
ties. No  true  reform  grows  out  of  reciprocal  denunciation. 
When  your  angry  thunders  have  been  launched,  and  the 
opposing  clouds  dissolve  from  the  exhaustion  of  their  supply, 
the  sunshine  of  tolerance  and  charity  shines  between,  and  the 
lowering  fragments  fuse  gently  together  in  the  golden  gleam 
of  the  twilight.  Let  me  speak  to  you  from  the  neutral  ground 
of  universal  humanity ;  let  me  tell  you  of  some  wrongs  of 
woman  which  none  of  you  need  go  far  to  see — some  rights 
•which  each  man  of  you,  to  whom  God  has  given  a  help-meet, 


452  HANNAH    THURSTON  : 

may  grant  beside  his  own  hearth-stone  and  the  cradle  of  his 
children  !  We  Americans  boast  of  our  superior  civilization ; 
we  look  down  with  a  superb  commiseration  not  only  upon  the 
political,  but  the  social  and  domestic,  life  of  other  lands. 
Let  us  not  forget  that  the  position  which  woman  holds  in  the 
State — always  supposing  that  it  does  not  transcend  the  des- 
tiny of  her  sex — is  the  unerring  index  on  the  dial  of  civiliza- 
tion. It  behooves  us,  therefore,  in  order  to  make  good  our 
boast,  to  examine  her  condition  among  us.  We  are  famed, 
and  perhaps  justly,  for  the  chivalrous  respect  which  we  ex- 
hibit towards  her  in  public ;  do  we  grant  her  an  equal  con- 
sideration in  our  domestic  life  ?  Do  we  seek  to  understand  her 
finer  nature,  her  more  delicate  sensibilities,  her  self-sacrificing 
desire  to  share  our  burdens  by  being  permitted  to  understand 
them?" 

The  attention  of  the  audience  was  profoundly  enlisted  by 
these  words.  The  calm,  dispassionate,  yet  earnest  tone  of  the 
speaker  was  something  new.  It  was  an  agreeable  variation 
from  the  anathemas  with  which  they  not  only  did  not  sympa- 
thize, but  which  they  were  too  indifferent  to  resent.  Mr.  Bemis, 
it  is  true,  fidgeted  uneasily  in  his  arm-chair,  but  he  was  now 
quite  a  secondary  person.  Woodbury  went  on  to  advocate  a 
private  as  well  as  public  respect  for  woman ;  he  painted,  in 
strong  colors,  those  moral  qualities  in  which  she  is  superior  to 
man  ;  urged  her  claim  to  a  completer  trust,  a  more  genero.us 
confidence  on  his  part ;  and,  while  pronouncing  no  word  that 
could  indicate  an  actual  sympathy  with  the  peculiar  rights 
which  were  the  object  of  the  meeting,  demanded  that  they 
should  receive,  at  least,  a  respectful  consideration.  He 
repeated  the  same  manly  views  which  we  have  already  heard 
in  his  conversations  with  his  wife,  expressing  his  faith  in  the 
impossibility  of  any  permanent  development  not  in  accordance 
with  nature,  and  his  confidence  that  the  sex,  under  whatever 
conditions  of  liberty,  would,  instinctively  fiud  its  true  place. 

His  address,  which  lasted  nearly  an  hour,  was  received  with 
hearty  satisfaction  by  his  auditors.  To  the  advocates  of  the 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  453 

reform  it  was  a  mixture  of  honey  and  gall.  He  had  started, 
apparently,  from  nearly  the  same  point;  his  path,  for  a  while, 
had  run  parallel  with  theirs,  and  then,  without  any  sensible 
divergence,  had  reached  a  widely  different  goal.  Somehow, 
he  had  taken,  in  advance,  all  the  strength  out  of  Mr.  Chub- 
buck's  oration ;  for,  although  the  latter  commenced  with  an 
attack  on  Woodbury's  neutral  attitude,  declaring  that  "we 
cannot  serve  two  masters,"  the  effort  was  too  sophistical  to 
deceive  anybody.  His  speech,  at  least,  had  the  effect  to 
restore  Mr.  Bemis  to  good  humor.  Miss  Silsbee,  a  maiden 
lady  from  Atauga  City,  was  then  persuaded  to  say  a  few 
words.  She  recommended  the  audience  to  "preserve  their 
individuality :  when  that  is  gone,  all  is  gone,"  said  she.  "  Be 
not  like  the  foolish  virgins,  that  left  their  lamps  untrimmed. 
O  trim  your  wicks  before  the  eleventh  hour  comes,  and  the 
Master  finds  you  sleeping !" 

There  seemed  to  be  but  a  very  remote  connection  between 
these  expressions  and  the  doctrine  of  Women's  Rights,  and 
the  audience,  much  enlivened  by  the  fact,  dispersed,  after 
adopting  the  customary  resolutions  by  an  overwhelming  major- 
ity. "  We  have  sowed  the  field  afresh,"  cried  Mr.  Bemis, 
rubbing  his  hands,  as  he  turned  to  his  friends  on  the  platform, 
"in  spite  of  the  tares  of  the  Enemy."  This  was  a  figurative 
allusion  to  Woodbury. 

The  latter  resisted  an  invitation  to  take  ten,  with  the  Wal- 
dos, in  order  to  hurry  home  to  his  wife.  Mrs.  Waldo  had 
been  one  of  his  most  delighted  hearers,  and  her  parting  words 
were :  "  Remember,  if  you  don't  tell  Hannah  every  thing  you 
said,  I  shall  do  it,  myself!" 

On  reaching  Lakeside,  Hannah  came  to  the  door  to  meet 
him.  Her  troubled  expression  had  passed  away,  and  a  deep, 
wonderful  light  of  happiness  was  on  her  face.  Her  eyes  trem- 
bled in  their  soft  splendor,  like  stars  through  the  veil  of  falling 
dew,  and  some  new,  inexpressible  grace  clung  around  her 
form.  She  caught  his  hands  eagerly,  and  her  voice  came  low 
and  vibrant  with  its  own  sweetness. 


454  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

"  Did  you  take  my  place,  Maxwell  ?"  she  asked. 

He  laughed  cheerfully.  "  Of  course  I  did.  I  made  the 
longest  speech  of  my  life.  It  did  not  satisfy  Beinis,  I  am  sure, 
but  the  audience  took  it  kindly,  and  you,  Hannah,  if  you  had 
been  there,  would  have  accepted  the  most  of  it." 

"  I  know  I  should  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  must  tell  me  all 
— but  not  now.  Now  you  must  have  your  reward — oh,  Max- 
well, I  think  I  can  reward  you  !" 

"  Give  me  another  kiss,  then." 

He  stooped  and  took  it.  She  laid  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  drew  his  ear  to  her  lips.  Then  she  whispered  a  few  flut- 
tering words.  When  he  lifted  his  face  she  saw  upon  it  the 
light  and  beauty  of  unspeakable  joy. 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  455 


.CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IN   WHICH  THE  MAN  AND  WOMAN   COME  TO  AN  UNDERSTANDING, 

WOODBURY,  without  having  intended  it,  very  much  increased 
his  popularity  in  Ptolemy  by  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the 
meeting.  His  address  was  marked  by  a  delicate  tact  which 
enabled  him  to  speak  for  Woman,  on  behalf  of  his  wife,  while 
preserving  his  own  independence  of  her  peculiar  views.  The 
men  suspected  that  her  opinions  had  been  modified  by  his 
stronger  mind,  and  that  this  was  the  secret  of  her  non-appear- 
ance :  they  were  proud  that  he  had  conquered  the  championess. 
The  women,  without  exception,  were  delighted  with  his 
defence  of  their  domestic  rights  ;  most  of  them  had  had  more 
or  less  experience  of  that  misapprehension  of  their  nature 
which  he  portrayed,  and  the  kindness,  the  considerate  justice 
which  dictated  his  words  came  very  gratefully  to  their  ears. 
Even  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue  remarked  to  a  neighbor,  at  the  close 
of  his  speech  :  "  Well,  if  he's  learned  all  that  from  her,  she's 
done  some  good,  after  all !" 

Thus  it  happened  that  the  marriage  came  to  be  regarded 
with  favor.  Ptolemy  not  only  submitted  with  a  good  grace 
to  what  was  irrevocable,  but  readily  invented  a  sufficient  justi- 
fication for  it.  Hannah  found  a  friendly  disposition  towards 
her,  as  she  began  to  mingle  a  little  more  with  the  society  of 
the  place :  the  women,  now  that  they  recognized  her  as  one  of 
themselves,  approached  her  more  genially  and  naturally  than 
hitherto,  and  the  men  treated  her  with  a  respect,  under  which 
no  reserved  hostility  was  concealed.  The  phenomenon  was 
adopted,  as  is  always  the  case,  into  the  ordinary  processes  of 
nature. 


456  HANNAH    THUKSTON  : 

But  a  new  life  had  commenced  at  Lakeside,  and  this  and  all 
other  changes  in  the  temper  of  the  community  passed  unno- 
ticed. The  spring  advanced  with  a  lovelier  mystery  in  every 
sprouting  germ,  in  every  unfolding  bud..  In  those  long,  sunny 
days  when  the  trodden  leaves,  of  the  last  year  stir  and  rustle 
under  the  upward  pressure  of  the  shooting  grass,  when  new 
/lolets  and  buttercups  open  from  hour  to  hour,  and  the  shim- 
mering, gauzy  tints  of  the  woodlands  deepen  visibly  between 
dawn  and  sunset,  the  husband  and  wife  saw  but  the  external 
expression  of  the  rich  ripening  of  their  own  lives.  The  season 
could  not  impart  its  wonted  tender  yearnings,  for  they  slept 
in  the  bliss  of  the  possession  they  had  only  prefigured  before, 
but  it  brought,  in  place  of  them,  a  holier  and  more  wonderful 
promise.  Here,  the  wife's  nature  at  last  found  a  point  of 
repose :  around  this  secret,  shining  consciousness,  the  strug- 
gling elements  ranged  themselves  in  harmonious  forms.  A 
power  not  her  own,  yet  inseparable  from  both,  and  as  welcome 
as  it  was  unforeboded,  had  usurped  her  life,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  the  most  hardly- won  triumphs  which  her  mind  had 
ever  achieved  grew  colorless  and  vain. 

By  the  end  of  May  the  cottage  for  Bute  was  completed.  It 
was  all  that  Downing  had  promised  from  the  design,  except  in 
regard  to  the  expense,  which  was  nearly  double  his  estimate. 
However,  it  formed  a  very  picturesque  feature  in  the  fore- 
ground of  the  landscape  from  Lakeside,  and  was  conveniently 
situated  for  the  needs  of  the  farm.  It  was  a  day  of  jubilee  for 
Bute  and  Carrie  when  they  took  possession  of  it.  Mrs.  Waldo 
must  needs  be  present  at  the  migration,  and  assist  with  her 
advice  in  the  arrangement  of  the  furniture.  Fortunately,  the 
little  "best  room"  had  but  two  windows,  and  Mrs.  Wilson's 
dream  of  the  chintz  curtains  was  realized.  Bute  had  bought 
a  brownish  ingrain  carpet,  somewhat  worn,  at  an  auction  sale 
in  Ptolemy,  for  a  very  trifling  sum ;  and  in  addition  to  the  por- 
traits of  General  and  Lady  Washington,  which  Mrs.  Babb  had 
inherited  from  Jason,  and  bequeathed  to  him  in  turn,  Wood- 
bury  had  given  him  a  splendidly-colored  lithograph  of  an 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  457 

"American  Homestead,"  with  any  quantity  of  cattle  and 
poultry.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Wilson 
in  this  room.  One  window  commanded  a  cheerful  view  of  the 
valley  towards  Ptolemy,  while  the  white  front  of  Lakeside 
looked  in  at  the  other.  Bute  had  surrounded  the  looking-glass 
and  picture-frames  with  wreaths  of  winter-green,  which 
reminded  Woodbury  of  his  impromptu  ball-room  in  the  Bow- 
ery, and  in  the  fireplace  stood  a  huge  pitcher  filled  with 
asparagus,  blossoming  lilacs,  and  snow-balls.  It  was  Mrs. 
Wilson's  ambition  to  consecrate  the  house  by  inviting  them  all 
to  tea,  and  a  very  pleasant  party  they  were. 

When  the  guests  had  left,  and  the  happy  tenants  found 
themselves  alone,  the  little  wife  exclaimed :  "  Oh,  Bute,  to 
think  that  we  should  have  a  house  of  our  own !" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "'t  is  our'n,  jist  as  much  as  though  we 
owned  it,  as  long  as  we  think  so.  Property's  pretty  much  in 
thinkin\  onless  you've  got  to  raise  money  on  it.  I  know 
when  I'm  well  off,  and  if  you'll  hitch  teams  with  me  in  savin', 
Carrie,  we  can  leastways  put  back  all  the  interest,  and  it'll  roll 
up  as  fast  as  we  want  it." 

"  You'll  see,  Bute,"  his  wife  answered,  with  a  cheerful  de- 
termination ;  "  it's  a  life  that  will  suit  me  so  much  better  than 
sewing  around  from  house  to  house.  I'll  raise  chickens  and 
turkeys,  and  we  can  sell  what  we  don't  want ;  and  then  there's 
the  garden ;  and  the  cow  ;  and  we  won't  spend  much  for 
clothes.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  make  yours,  Bute ;  I'm  sure  I 
could  do  it  as  well  as  Seth  Wattles." 

The  grin  on  Bute's  face  broadened,  as  he  listened  to  the 
lively  little  creature,  and  when  she  stopped  speaking,  he  took 
her  around  the  waist  by  both  arms  and  lifted  her  into  the  air. 
She  was  not  alarmed  at  this  proceeding,  for  she  knew  she 
would  come  down  gently,  getting  a  square,  downright  kiss 
on  the  way.  Never  were  two  persons  better  satisfied  with 
each  other. 

At  Lakeside  there  were  also  changes  and  improvements. 
The  garden  was  remodelled,  the  grounds  were  extended,  and 
20 


458  HANNAH  THTJRSTON: 


fresh  consignments  of  trees  and  plants  continually  arrived  from 
the  Rochester  nurseries.  Both  Woodbury  and  his  wife 
delighted  in  the  out-door  occupation  which  these  changes  gave, 
and  the  spring  deepened  into  summer  before  they  were  aware. 
To  a  thoroughly  cultivated  man,  there  is  no  life  compared  to 
that  of  the  country,  with  its  independence,  its  healthy  enjoy- 
ments, its  grateful  repose  —  provided  that  he  is  so  situated  that 
his  intellectual  needs  can  be  satisfied.  Woodbury'  s  life  in 
Calcutta  had  accustomed  him  to  seek  this  satisfaction  in  him- 
self, or,  at  best,  to  be  content  with  few  friends.  In  Hannah, 
he  had  now  the  eager,  sympathetic  companion  of  his  mind,  no 
less  than  the  partner  of  his  affections.  The  newest  literature 
came  to  him  regularly  from  New  York  and  Boston,  and  there 
was  no  delight  greater  than  to  perceive  how  rapidly  her  tastes 
and  her  intellectual  perceptions  matured  with  the  increase  of 
her  opportunities  of  culture. 

The  tender  secret  which  bound  them  so  closely  soothed  her 
heart  for  the  time,  without  relieving  its  need  of  the  expression 
and  the  answer  which  still  failed.  His  watchful  fondness  was 
always  around  her,  folding  her  more  closely  and  warmly,  day 
by  day  ;  but  he  still  seemed  to  assert,  in  her  name,  that  free- 
dom which  her  love  no  longer  demanded  —  nay,  which  stood 
between  her  and  the  fulfilment  of  her  ideal  union  with  him. 
She  craved  that  uncalculating  passion  which  is  as  ready  to 
ask  as  to  give  —  the  joy  of  mutual  demand  and  mutual  surren- 
der. The  calm,  deep,  and  untroubled  trust  which  filled  his 
nature  was  not  enough.  Perhaps  love,  she  thought,  in  the 
self-poised,  self-controlled  being  of  man,  takes  this  form  ;  per- 
haps it  lies  secure  and  steadfast  below  the  tender  agitations, 
the  passionate  impulses,  the  voiceful  yearnings  which  stir  the 
soul  of  woman.  If  so,  she  must  be  content  ;  but  one  thing 
she  must  yet  do,  to  satisfy  the  conscience  of  love.  She  must 
disabuse  his  mind  of  the  necessity  of  granting  her  that  inde- 
pendence which  she  had  ignorantly  claimed  ;  she  must  confess 
to  him  the  truer  consciousness  of  her  woman's  nature  ;  and— 
if  her  timid  heart  would  allow  —  she  must  once,  though  only 


A   STOBY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  459 

once,  put  in  words  all  the  passionate  devotion  of  her  heart 
for  him. 

-The  days  went  by,  the  fresh  splendor  of  the  foliage 
darkened,  the  chasing  billows  of  golden  grain  drifted  away 
and  left  a  strand  of  tawny  stubble  behind,  and  the  emerald 
bunches  on  the  trellises  at  Lakeside  began  to  gather  an 
amethystine  bloom.  And  the  joy,  and  the  fear,  and  the 
mystery  increased,  and  the  shadow  of  a  coming  fate,  bright 
with  the  freshest  radiance  of  Heaven,  or  dark  with  unimagiued 
desolation — but  which,  no  one  oould  guess — lay  upon  the 
household.  Woodbury  had  picked  up  in  the  county  paper, 
published  at  Tiberius,  a  little  poem  by  Stoddard,  of  which 
these  lines  clung  to  his  memory  and  would  not  be  banished : 

"  The  laden  summer  will  give  me 

What  it  never  gave  before, 
Or  take  from  me  what  a  thousand 
Summers  can  give  no  morel" 

Thus,  as  the  approach  of  Death  is  not  an  unmingled  sorrow, 
the  approach  of  Life  is  not  an  unmingled  joy.  But,  as  we 
rarely  breathe,  even  to  those  we  best  love,  the  fear  that  at 
such  times  haunts  our  hearts,  chased  away  as  soon  as  recog- 
nized, so  to  her  he  was  always  calm  and  joyfully  confident. 

September  came,  and  fiery  touches  of  change  were  seen  on 
the  woods.  The  tuberoses  she  had  planted  in  the  spring 
poured  from  their  creamy  cups  an  intoxicating  dream  of  the 
isles  of  nutmeg-orchards  and  cinnamon-groves ;  the  strong, 
ripe  blooms  of  autumn  lined  the  garden  walks,  and  the  breath 
of  the  imprisoned  wine  dimmed  the  purple  crystal  of  the 
grapes.  Then,  one  morning,  there  was  a  hushed  gliding  to 
and  fro  in  the  mansion  of  Lakeside ;  there  was  anxious  wait- 
ing in  the  shaded  rooms ;  there  were  heart-wrung  prayers, 
as  the  shadows  of  the  different  fates  sank  lower  upon  the 
house,  and  fitfully  shifted,  like  the  rapid,  alternate  variations 
of  cloud  and  sunshine  in  a  broken  sky.  Death  stood  by  to 
dispute  the  consummation  of  life ;  but,  as  the  evening  drew 


460  HANNAH  THUBSTON: 

on,  a  faint,  wailing  cry  of  victory  was  heard,  and  Life  had 
triumphed. 

Woodbury's  strong  nature  was  shaken  to  its  centre,  both 
by  the  horrible  weight  of  the  fears  which  had  been  growing 
upon  him  throughout  the  day,  and  the  lightning-flash  of  over- 
whelming gladness  which  dispersed  them.  As  he  took  the 
helpless,  scarcely  human  creature  in  his  arms,  and  bent  his 
face  over  it,  his  tears  fell  fast.  He  knelt  beside  the- bed,  and 
held  it  before  the  half-closed  eyes  of  the  mother,  who  lay 
silent,  pale,  as  if  flung  back,  broken,  from  the  deeps  of  Death. 
The  unfeeling  authority  which  reigned  in  the  chamber  drove 
him  away.  The  utmost  caution,  the  most  profound  repose, 
was  indispensable,  the  physician  said.  All  night  long  he 
watched  in  the  next  room,  slowly  gathering  hope  from  the 
whispered  bulletins  of  the  nurse.  In  the  morning,  he  left  his 
post  for  a  little  while,  but  soon  returned  to  it.  But  a  single 
interview  was  granted  that  day,  and  he  was  forbidden  to 
speak.  He  could  only  take  his  wife's  hand,  and  look  upon 
the  white,  saintly  beauty  of  her  face.  She  smiled  faintly,  with 
a  look  of  ineffable  love,  which  he  could  not  bear  unmoved,  and 
he  was  forbidden  to  agitate  her. 

Gradually  the  severity  of  the  orders  was  relaxed,  and  he 
was  allowed  to  enter  the  room  occasionally,  in  a  quiet  way, 
and  look  upon  the  unformed  features  of  his  son.  The  mother 
was  slowly  gaining  strength,  and  the  mere  sight  of  her  hus- 
band was  so  evident  a  comfort  to  her  that  it  could  not  now 
be  denied.  In  the  silent  looks  they  interchanged  there  was  a 
profounder  language  than  they  had  yet  spoken.  In  him,  the 
strong  agitation  of  the  man's  heart  made  itself  felt  through  the 
mask  of  his  habitual  calm  ;  in  her,  the  woman's  all-yielding  love 
confessed  its  existence,  and  pleaded  for  recognition.  Wood- 
bury,  too  grateful  for  the  fact  that  the  crisis  of  imminent 
danger  was  slowly  passing  away,  contented  himself  with  these 
voiceless  interviews,  and  forcibly  shut  for  a  while  within  his 
heart  the  words  of  blessing  and  of  cheer  which  he  longed  to 
utter. 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  461 

On  the  fifth  day  the  physician  said  to  him :  "  She  is  now 
safe,  with  the  ordinary  precautions.  I  have  perhaps  been  a 
little  over-despotic,  because  I  know  the  value  of  the  life  at 
stake.  You  have  been  patient  and  obedient,  and  you  shall 
have  your  reward.  You  may  see  her  as  often  as  you  like,  and 
I  will  allow  you  to  talk,  on  condition  that  you  break  off  on 
the  least  appearance  of  fatigue." 

After  his  departure,  Woodbury,  glad  at  heart,  hastened  to 
his  wife's  chamber.  She  lay  perfectly  still,  and  the  curtains 
were  drawn  to  shield  her  face  from  the  light.  "  She  is  asleep," 
said  the  nurse. 

"  Leave  me  a  while  here,  if  you  please,"  said  he,  "  I  will 
watch  until  she  wakes." 

The  nurse  left  the  room.  He  knelt  beside  the  cradle,  and 
bent  over  the  sleeping  babe,  giving  way,  undisturbed  by  a 
watching  eye,  to  the  blissful  pride  of  a  father's  heart.  Pres- 
ently his  eyes  overflowed  with  happy  tears,  and  he  whis- 
pered to  the  unconscious  child :  "  Richard !  my  son,  my  dar- 
ling!" 

The  babe  stirred  and  gave  out  a  broken  wail  of  waking. 
He  moved  the  cradle  gently,  still  murmuring  :  "  Richard,  my 
darling !  God  make  me  worthy  to  possess  thee  !" 

But  he  was  not  unseen  ;  he  was  not  unheard.  Hannah's 
light  slumber  had  been  dissolved  by  the  magnetism  of  his 
presence,  but  so  gently  that  her  consciousness  of  things,  re- 
turning before  the  awaking  of  the  will,  impressed  her  like  a 
more  distinct  dream.  As  in  a  dream,  through  her  partially- 
closed  lids,  she  saw  her  husband  kneel  beside  the  cradle.  She 
saw  the  dim  sparkle  of  his  tears,  as  they  fell  upon  the  child  ; 
she  heard  his  soliloquy  of  love  and  gratitude — heard  him  call 
that  child  by  her  father's  name  !  Her  mother's  words  flashed 
across  her  mind  with  a  meaning  which  she  had  never  thought 
of  applying  to  her  own  case.  Her  father,  too,  had  wept  over 
his  first-born ;  in  his  heart  passion  had  smouldered  with  in- 
tensest  heat  under  a  deceitful  calm  ;  and  her  mother  had  only 
learned  to  know  him  when  the  knowledge  came  too  late.  To 


462  HANNAH   THTJESTON  : 

herself,  that  knowledge  had  come  now :  she  had  caught  one 
glimpse  of  her  husband's  heart,  when  he  supposed  that  only 
God's  ear  had  heard  him.  In  return  for  that  sacred,  though 
involuntary  confession,  she  would  voluntarily  make  one  as 
sacred.  The  duty  of  a  woman  gave  her  strength  ;  the  dignity 
of  a  mother  gave  her  courage. 

When  the  babe  was  again  lulled  into  quiet,  she  gently 
called:  "Maxwell!" 

He  rose,  came  to  the  bed,  softly  put  his  arms  around  her, 
and  laid  his  lips  to  hers.  "  My  dear  wife,"  he  said. 

"  Maxwell,  I  have  seen  your  heart,"  she  whispered;  "  would 
you  see  mine  ?  Do  you  recollect  what  you  asked  me  that 
afternoon,  in  the  meadows — not  whether  I  loved,  but  whether 
I  could  love  ?  You  have  never  repeated  the  other  question 
since." 

"  There  was  no  need  to  ask,"  said  he  ;  "I  saw  it  answered." 

"My  dear  husband,  do  you  not  know  that  feeling,  in  a 
woman,  must  be  born  through  speech,  and  become  a  living 
joy,  instead  of  lying  as  a  happy,  yet  anxious  weight  beneath 
the  heart?  Maxwell,  the  truth  has  been  on  my  tongue  a 
thousand  times,  waiting  for  some  sign  of  encouragement  from 
you ;  but  you  have  been  so  careful  to  keep  the  promise  which 
I  accepted — nay,  almost  exacted,  I  fear — that  you  could  not 
see  what  a  burden  it  had  become  to  me.  You  have  been  too 
just  to  me ;  your  motive  was  generous  and  noble :  I  complain 
of  myself  only  in  having  made  it  necessary.  You  did  right  to 
trust  to  the  natural  development  of  my  nature  through  my 
better  knowledge  of  life;  but,  oh,  can  you  not  see  that  the 
development  is  reached?  Can  you  not  feel  that  you  are 
released  from  a  duty  towards  me  which  is  inconsistent  with 
love  ?" 

"Do  you  release  me  willingly,  my  wife?"  he  cried,  an  eager 
light  coming  into  his  eyes.  "  I  have  always  felt  that  you  were 
carried  to  me  by  a  current  against  which  you  struggled.  I 
could  not  resist  the  last  wish  of  your  mother,  though  I  should 
never,  alone,  have  dared  to  hasten  our  union.  I  would  have 


A   STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  463 

waited — would  have  given  you  time  to  know  your  heart — time 
to  feel  that  the  only  true  freedom  for  man  or  woman  is  reach- 
ed through  the  willing  submission  of  love." 

"  Ignorant  as  I  was,"  she  answered,  "  I  might  never  have 
come  to  that  knowledge.  I  should  have  misunderstood  the 
submission,  and  fought  against  it  to  the  last.  Mother  was 
right.  She  knew  me  better  than  1  knew  myself.  Maxwell, 
will  you  take  back  your  promise  of  independence  ?  Will  you 
cease  to  allow  that  cold  spectre  of  justice  to  come  between 
our  hearts?" 

"  Tell  me  why  you  ask  it  ?"  said  he. 

u  Because  I  love  you !  Because  the  dream  whose  hopeless- 
ness made  my  heart  sick  has  taken  your  features,  and  is  no  more 
a  dream,  but  a  blessed,  blessed  truth  !  Ask  yourself  what  that 
means,  and  you  will  understand  me.  If  you  but  knew  how  I 
have  pined  to  discover  your  wish,  in  order  that  I  might  follow 
it!  You  have  denied  me  the  holiest  joy  of  love — the  joy  of 
sacrifice.  As  you  have  done  it  for  my  sake,  so  for  my  sake 
abandon  the  unfair  obligation.  Think  what  you  would  most 
desire  to  receive  from  the  woman  you  love,  and  demand  that 
of  me !" 

"  My  darling,  I  have  waited  for  this  hour,  but  I  could  not 
seem  to  prematurely  hasten  it.  I  have  held  back  my  arms 
when  they  would  have  clasped  you ;  I  have  turned  away  my 
eyes,  lest  they  might  confuse  you  by  some  involuntary  attrac- 
tion ;  I  have  been  content  with  silence,  lest  the  voice  of  my  love 
might  have  seemed  to  urge  the  surrender  which  your  heart 
must  first  suggest.  Do  you  forgive  me,  now,  for  the  pitiless 
passion  with  which  I  stormed  you  ?" 

"  There  is  your  forgiveness,"  she  murmured,  through  her 
tears,  pointing  to  the  cradle. 

He  tenderly  lifted  the  sleeping  babe,  and  laid  it  upon  her 
bosom.  Then  he  knelt  down  at  the  bed,  and  bent  his  face 
upon  the  pillow,  beside  her  own.  "  Darling,"  he  whispered,  "  I 
accept  all  that  you  give :  I  take  the  full  measure  of  your  love, 
in  its  sacred  integrity.  If  any  question  of  our  mutual  rights 


464  HANNAH   THURSTON. 

remain,  I  lay  it  in  these  precious  little  hands,  warm  with  the 
new  life  in  which  our  beings  have  become  one." 

"  And  they  will  forever  lead  me  back  to  the  true  path,  if  I 
should  sometimes  wander  from  it,"  was  her  answer. 


THE    END. 


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or  THE 


LIFE  AND  LETTERS 


OP 


Washington  Irving. 

BY  PIEEEE   M.   IRVING. 

IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. 

THE  Publisher  has  the  satisfaction  of  announcing  that  the  4th  volume  of 
this  delightful  and  attractive  work  is  completed.  It  includes  a  COPIOUS 
INDEX  TO  THE  FOUR  VOLUMES,  prepared  by  S.  AUSTIN  ALLJBONE, 
LL.D.,  author  of  the  "Dictionary  of  Authors." 


*#*  This  work  is  not  a  bald  biographical  account  of  an  individual,  but  chiefly  consists 
in  a  scries  of  sprightly  and  charming  LETTEES,  written  in  various  parts  of  Europe  and 
t  e  United  States,  and  graphically  describing  cotable  events,  national  characteristics, 
and  distinguished  statesmen  and  literary  men,  whose  names  are  "familiar  in  our  mouths 
»s  household  words"  —  the  whole  extending  over  a  period  of  more  than  SIXTY  YEAES, 
and  including  the  times  of  the  First  Napoleon,  the  times  of  Jefferson,  and  Madison, 
and  Aaron  Burr  ;  —  associations  and  correspondence  with  Scott,  Lockhart,  Moore,  Eogers, 
Leslie,  James,  Dickens,  and  a  host  of  others  in  England,  France,  and  Spain  :  while  the 
literary  and  political  incidents  and  characteristics  of  the  whole  of  the  present  century,  at 
come  and  abroad,  are  recalled  by  the  vivid  biographical  touches  of  these  familiar  letters. 
The  genial  humor,  and  the  magnetic  characteristics  of  the  writer,are  especially  drawn  out 
of  the  domestic  and  family  letters,  which  form  a  large  part  of  the  volumes.  No  epistolary 
or  biographical  collection  in  the  English  language,  or  perhaps  in  any  other,  is  comparable 
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It  may  be  described  as  "the  Autobiography  of  Washington  Irving,  as  [unconsciously]  re- 
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which  he  lived." 

The  materials  for  this  work,  if  more  freely  used,  would  have  filled  six  or  eight  volumes. 
The  editor,  who  received  from  his  distinguished  relative  these  materials,  with  the  request 
that  he  should  use  them  as  he  thought  best,  has  selected  and  compressed  into  four  vol- 
umes, the  matter  most  essential  to  the  narrative,  and  most  illustrative  of  the  author's 
characteristics.  It  was  at  first  hoped  that  this  might  be  done  in  three  volumes,  but  this 
was  found  to  be  impracticable,  and  many  intelligent  readers  have  earnestly  asked  ibr  as 
many  more. 

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